Alone
by KatsyKat
Summary: What if Dorothy wasn't really Dermail's granddaughter? What would it mean to her to find out who she was and how would it effect who she is after the was is over? Chapter 12 is up!
1. The Decision

**Alone  
**Chapter 1 **"The Decision"**

(Notes and Disclaimer to follow)

* * *

The beautiful blonde sat in the Jacuzzi while steam overwhelmed the rather large bathroom. It became stifling, causing the woman to get out of the tub and open the window, even though it was late December and very cold outside. The young woman inhaled deeply, the frigid air tickling her nose as it came in the window in huge white puffs.

"Ahh.. much better. Now I can breathe." she sighed as the cold air caused her nipples to harden and goose-bumps to run up her arms. She slid back into the steamy hot whirlpool, looking around the elegant bathroom. "May as well enjoy this luxury while it lasts." she spoke as the jets pounded her delicate skin. Sadly, she was well aware that was only a matter of time before someone came knocking on the door to take her key. Take the key to her apartment, throwing her out into the cold with nowhere to go; and no way to earn a living.

She poured some more perfumed bubble bath into the tub as she frowned. It wasn't as if she always had money. She knew how to survive in the streets. Still, not having money was difficult. It made life much easier. It bought comfort and the nicest cars.

She smiled, thinking about how she loved to drive. Racing around corners, and even chasing mobile suit battles for a better view. She leaned back, still smiling the cold smile that had become as much a part of her face as her nose.

Even her parents knew the importance of money. They had sold her when she was only three to the owner of an inn on some forgotten colony. She had scrubbed floors untill she was six, and then by chance she met a young boy who stayed at the inn she was forced to work at.

The boys name was Treize Kushranada. He took sympathy on her, a scrawny, lonely child, even though he wasn't much more than a child himself. At the age of twelve, he took her in and harbored her. Took care of her and even cared for her. He was the first and perhaps only person who cared for her despite knowing her true pathetic self. She remembered his kindness, when he smuggled her onto his shuttle and took her to to his mansion on earth. He allowed her to eat with him and treated her like an equal, having his servants wait on her and giving her a luxury she had never dreamed of, her own room.

Because his parents had died when he was just a child, he was left with the money and riches to spend as he pleased. He tried to keep her with him, teaching her manners and chivalry. Although he was very young, he had sophistication beyond his years. Unfortunately, it wasn't long after she first came to stay with him that the police called with questions. The young woman sighed as she though of the time they had come into the house and Treize had ordered her to hide in the top of her closet. Still, they had almost found her. So Treize had done the only thing he could, he went to his main supporter and only adult confident, Duke Dermail.

Dermail had been most helpful. He offered to take the little girl in as his lost granddaughter. He forged files and created an identity for the then nameless little girl. He paid for her schooling and he taught her how manipulate people as well as introducing her to the beauty of battle.

When she was nine, Dermail flavored her life story by telling her that he traced back her heritage. According to him, her father was a soldier who died in the war and her mother had died from some illness shortly after. At the time the girl accepted it for fact, considering herself an orphan. But now as a young woman, she wondered why she had never bothered to follow up on it.

She shook her head. It didn't matter to her anymore if her parents were alive. In her mind, she truly was an orphan, with both Treize and Dermail, the only people she considered family, dead. However, while Durmail cared for her, it was a traded care. Because, he cared for her, only for what she could do within the Romefeller foundation. Thus, she returned respect rather than love… more of a gratitude to him, for the many things he did for her.

The woman tilted her head. When she thought about it, everyone she had ever known had an alterative reason for caring for her. Not that she blamed them. She, herself, was not worth caring for. Who was she really but a nameless nobody who had long ago lost the ability to care for others? Expanding her realm of thought she spoke the first name that came to mind.

"Quatre Rababa Winner." She licked her lips. Now there was someone she could almost care for… almost. He was actually the only one who knew, to her knowledge, that she was still alive. He had insisted on using god knows how many means to search for her after Libra's destruction.

After explaining to him, quite haughtily, that simulations were not the only mobile suits she could pilot, they had written back and forth and met a few times for lunch or a walk in the park. She had grown to care about him a great deal. More than she knew she was capable of.

However, in his last letter, he had made it more than clear that they were "just friends". Which, in Quatre's language, meant that maybe it was better if they weren't. The guy, as always, was too gentlemanly to state his real intentions.

He tried to say that he was doing it for her, because she needed to "...make more acquaintances" and all that. He felt that he was "...holding her back." She closed her eyes tightly. The fancy language did nothing to spare her feelings. She knew of the stoic pilot with the odd hair. She was not blind to the looks of love between the two. She shook her head opening her eyes slowly. It did not good to dwell – she was no innocent princess in need of a knight.

Quatre was a kind person however. She knew that if she asked, he would gladly help her out and give her money or at least a place to stay. But he was kind, because he believed her to be innocent and only tainted by war and the 'death' of her father. "If only he knew..." she sighed. 'If only he knew the things I did in the foundation to stay ahead.'

She shook her head, her wet hair lightly bouncing off of her face. She could not ask him for help, because he would be giving it under false pretences. And, nothing comes without a price. Eventually she would have to reciprocate somehow. What did she have to offer besides…

Her eyes glittered darkly as she clenched and unclenched her fists forcing herself away from that train of thought. Quatre wasn't like that. But still… in an attempt to spare her feelings, he, being closest to her, forgot that she didn't have the same feelings to spare. She frowned, leaning back into the bath and ignoring the fact that it wasn't truly hot anymore.

There was always…

"Relena Dorlin Peacecraft." The woman spoke, shaking her head. That girl was too naive, too trusting for her own good. Sure she had the great Heero Yuy looking out for her, but one of these days she was going to get taken in.

A rare genuine smile crossed the womans lips. 'Naive or no, she was kind to me.' Relena had never let on that she had any distrust for the young woman or her position within the Romafeller Foundation. Although, Relena was also kind under false pretences. She believed that the girl had come to learn of pacifism, when in reality, she had come to see and assess the one and only Heero Yuy, and assist her connections within the Romefeller foundation.

Still, Relena had guts. She always stands up for what she believes in, and shows no fear. 'That's why the people follow her.' The woman nodded. 'Why I almost followed her.' A frown flickered across her face. 'But, she doesn't need someone like me to taint her.'

The young woman sat up in the tub hugging her knees to her naked chest, ignoring the cold wind blowing unchecked in the window. She really didn't have long in this apartment. It was paid for by the savings and life insurance of her supposed grandfather, Duke Dermail. She had long since received the letter stating that she needed to submit to a routine DNA check to confirm her lineage.

She had, of course, refused and now had no access to Durmail's funds. 'If only he'd left a will...' she shook her head and bit her lip. No sense blaming the dead geezer. He had been kind enough, it was not his fault he could not foresee his own death. Still that didn't change the facts that any day now, they would come knocking on the door to throw her into the street. Just as soon as they realized that they were not going to receive their monthly payment.

"What will become of me?" she wondered.

'I who did not fight.' she twirled her finger around the now, luke-warm water.

'I who did not lead.' She stopped fidgeting and placed both hands around her ankles as she fixed her sight at some distant point of which she was hardly aware.

'I, who sat in the shadows and whispered words of advice to both sides of the war. Who probably influenced this world more than any other single person...'

She lowered her head onto her knees taking a deep breath, remembering the words of an observant gundam pilot. 'I who cannot cry.'

She bit her lip, 'What happens now? Am I to fade back into the shadows that I was born and have lived in my whole life? Being manipulative and deceitful has gotten me no where... My whole life has been a play and now that I've played my part, is it time for me to disappear back stage never to be heard of again...?'

Suddenly she realized that the water was getting cold and the wind was, in fact, carrying bits of snow onto the dark green tile floor. She stood up shivering violently. She grabbed a towel and fled the bathroom, suddenly feeling chilled by much more than the cold.

Rushing into the bedroom she flung herself on the bed. For a moment she lie there breathing in the scent of fresh linen. Suddenly a thought occurred to her and she sat up and looked around.

There was nothing to define the person that lived here. No pictures, no awards or trophies, no keepsakes, no mementos. There was only plain peach-colored walls and simple neat furniture. It hardly looked lived in. Everything there, save her clothes, had been there when she moved in.

The young woman stood and got dressed quickly. She attempted to dry her hair, before she got frustrated and threw it into a braid. "Why don't I simply cut it off?" she growled before she coldly smiled. 'Because I like the attention it gets me.' She answered herself as shecontinued to smile coldly looking at the two unruly tendrils that stuck out over her forehead.

She continued to look into the mirror long after she arranged her hair. Cold blue eyes stared back at her, set under her unusual eyebrows. She could always pluck them, but like her hair, she liked the attention she received from people who though them odd. They were intimidating. 'Like me.' she thought, as she set her lips into her customary thin smile.

She checked her wallet and frowned. 'Well, it's not much. But it's better than nothing.' Grabbing her discreet black coat, she threw it on over her casual dress of jeans and a blue sweater. Pulling a hat over her head and putting on her boots she purposely left the keys in the apartment and locked the door. 'I'm off on my own.' She thought to herself. 'To truly disappear into the shadows I was born.'

"Goodbye, forever, Dorothy Catalonia." she whispered as she closed the apartment door.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to question or comment on anything that came to your mind while reading. Even a bad comment is better than no comment at all! 

I don't own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters and make NO profit off the writing of this humble story.

Chapter 1 was Revised March 2006! More revisions to come… (I appreciate your patience on waiting while I go through all the OLD chapters, which were written in NOTEPAD!) For crying out loud! During revisions, both grammar and any un-matching plot points will be addressed… Thanks again for reading.


	2. Love, Lust, and Friendship

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* * *

Alone Chapter 2  
Love, Lust, and Friendship** Chapter 2 Love, Lust, and Friendship

* * *

The cold wind tossed hard pelts of hail into Dorothy's face. She had completely underestimated the weather. Each gust seemed to cut through her coat and raise fresh goose-bumps all over her body. She tried, unsuccessfully, to stop shivering as she walked swiftly down the street. Opening her eyes as much as she could despite their constant watering, Dorothy saw no other people on the street. The colony streets were completely deserted.

'Such unusual weather.' she mused bitterly. 'There must be a problem with the weather regulator. Of course it would be today, of all days.'

The street was nothing but ice, forcing her to slow down several times as she felt her balance waiver. Bitter cold wind threw more hard pellets of ice around. Shivering more violently, Dorothy reached the entrance to the Sub-Transportation Systems. The S.T.S., as it was called, was similar to a subway on earth.

As she purchased her ticket and a cafe au lait, she passed a obviously homeless man huddled in the corner trying to keep warm. She began to walk quickly past his tray of pathetic begging's, when suddenly a thought crossed her mind. Something Quatre had told her, on Libra.

"Humankind needs kindness. If we only focus on our own survival and nothing else, than that makes us lower than animals."

Dorothy stopped just a few feet away from the man. She wasn't a kind person, nor did she try to fool herself by believing she was. But... She was focused only on herself at the moment. She hadn't giving anyone else a thought since she walked out of her apartment door... not even Quatre. She was focused on her own survival and nothing else. Certainly that was most pressing matter, but... Dorothy sighed silently cursing the young man that never seemed far from her thoughts.

'If Quatre were here he'd give that man something.'

'But he's not here, is he?' taunted a voice in her head.

'Well, that's not his fault is it? I was the one who left without saying goodbye.' she countered.

She paused for a few moments as she continued arguing with herself. Finally, she reached inside of her pocket and pulled out the change she had from the ticket and coffee. It was all the money she had in the world, but she quickly dropped it in the tray, squared her shoulders, and continued on quickly, ignoring the man's thanks.

When the train arrived, Dorothy sat patiently in the car. Rubbing her hands together, she tried to regain feeling in her frozen fingers. After a few minutes, after she had finished off her coffee, Dorothy allowed the motion of the train and the warm temperature to lull her into a sleep.

Her last thought was wondering why caffeine always had the opposite affect on her as it did others...

* * *

A small, dirt-covered, 4 year old girl with blonde hair was on her knees scrubbing a very dirty wooden floor. After she had worked most of the day she was tired, but she still smiled when she realized her task was almost finished. She sat back on her heels and looked to see the colony's artificial sunlight still streaming in the window. It made the newly polished floor shine!

She had completed the entire first floor in less than a day! That was much faster than last time! Maybe now… the girl dared hope – The Lady would let her go outside and play with the other children.

Lost in her daydream of making a friend, she didn't notice the middle-aged man when he came in. In fact it wasn't until a much larger hand covered her own that she knew he was there.

The girl cringed away from the man's touch. She wasn't use to anyone touching her unless it was to slap her for some mistake on her part. However, before the girl could pull away completely, the man took her tiny hand in both of his – trapping her. His thumb began lightly stroking her wrist as he spoke to her.

"There there..." the man coaxed in a low steady voice, "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you."

He placed a kiss on the young girl's hand. "My wife's out on business for the day so there's no need to worry. I am sorry the way she treats you sometimes, but you have to understand she has a lot of other people to worry about."

The girl continued to stare at the man without saying anything. Her wide crystalline eyes resembled that of a terrified rabbit.

The man, sensing her discomfort, finally released her hand, turning his eyes to the very small area of the floor left to do. "Today I'd like to help you out with your chores, if you'll allow me."

The girl looked at the man, distrust reflected in her eyes.

The man continued on, "As a token of how much I care for you." He smiled, oblivious to the suspicious look she was giving him.

"I care for you very much." He licked set a hand on her head then brought it down to cup her cheek. "Did you know that?"

The girl shook her head trying only mildly to pull away from his touch. She did not trust herself to speak as the man began tenderly stroking her hair.

"I just couldn't show you how much I care when my wife is around, because she might get angry and be harder on you." The man added, allowing himself a smile at the innocent look of surprise written plainly across her childish features.

'Could it be true?' The girl wondered, 'Did he really care about her, but The Lady made him scared too?' When the man leaned in and smelled the girls hair, still intertwined in his fingers; the girl startled back, surprised by the move.

The man put his other hand on her shoulder to prevent the girl from squirming away, and stroked her hair gently again, tracing his thumb down her cheek until she stilled.

After he was assured she would stay put, the man turned his attention to the bucket of soapy water.

"Now, since my wife is not here, I can help you out. Wouldn't you like some help?" The man smiled, "I'll help you, and then you can do something to help me. OK?" he tapped the end of her nose lightly and smiled. "It would only be fair, after all."

He waited a moment until the girl tentatively returned his smile and quickly grabbed her rag and finished the small area of the room the girl had left to finish.

Afterwards, the man stood up and brushed his pant-legs off as if he'd really been kneeling for several hours instead of several minutes.

"There. That wasn't so hard." He smiled, but this time, the girl noticed a gleam in his eyes that made him look kind of scary. The man, picking up on her hesitation continued, "Now-now, I've helped you with your chores. You have to hold up your end of the bargain. That's only fair. Isn't it?"

The girl continued to stare at the man silently. She didn't trust him, but what he was saying made sense to her young mind.

The man signed, once again kneeling down to the girl's level. "It won't be hard, and it will be fun – I promise. I only want to show you how much I love you." The man said as he set both hands on the girls shoulders and began rubbing her arms.

Despite herself, the girls heart leapt. He loved her? Someone loved HER? Had anyone ever told her that before? If so, she couldn't remember. But… why wouldn't he have said anything before?...

That was right! He said he was afraid of The Lady too. Maybe then… maybe she could trust him.

Hesitantly, the naive girl nodded her head, resolving herself to help the man, who was being so kind.

"That a girl!" the man praised, as he reached down to engulf the child in a hug. The girl smiled as the man picked her up, and she snuggling into the first hug she could ever remember getting.

"That-a girl. There ya go." The man smiled, bending his head to inhale deeply. He paused a moment enjoying the rush of warmth that went straight to his groin at the girl's innocent actions.

The girl beamed at the praise, as the man began walking.

"Now, we really should to go to my room, so I can show you what I need help with." he told her as he cradled her in one arm and reached down to the large bulge in his pants with his free hand.

The girl's eyes widened as she saw him begin to unbutton his pants, but she remained calm as the man walked them both into his room, and shut the door.

* * *

Dorothy sat up with a start. She looked around in a panic, before she remembered where she was.

Realizing that she was being stared at by a drunk old man, she shot him a purposeful look. He grinned at her and then took the hint and turned his attention elsewhere. She took a calming breath and checked her the STS's position, only to realize that it was stopped where intended to get off.

She stood, habitually smoothing her unruffled hair and threw away her empty cup as she exited.

Shivering in the still cold streets, she tried to forget the dream. Driving it from her mind, she focused on her task at hand: getting a job and a place to stay.

* * *

Quatre sighed, placing his head in his hands as he re-read the postage mark on the third letter that had been sent back.

"Return to Sender: No Forwarding Address."

It had been three weeks since he had last heard from Dorothy. He knew, deep in his heart, that it was his last letter that did it.

He hadn't wanted to send the letter. In fact he had written it a full three weeks before he finally added the postage and handed it over his assistant to be mailed. But he knew full-well that Dorothy was getting the wrong idea about their 'relationship'.

Instead of opening up to him and others, she was opening up only to him. She was almost to the point of becoming emotionally dependent on him... he scoffed. As if that were possible.

He would be one of the first to admit that she was much stronger than him... and at the same time she was also more vulnerable. Because she buried the emotions that she didn't understand or was afraid of, she was bottling up who she was. She needed to come to terms with herself – all of herself, and he had been trying to help her accomplish that.

Quatre groaned, shaking his head. It seemed he was driving everyone away. By writing Dorothy the letter, he had been trying to avoid having the same thing happen that happened with Trowa almost a month ago.

Quatre hadn't seen Trowa since he had confronted Quatre with his romantic feelings.

"Oh – Allah – How that one got by me, I'll never know." Quatre frowned. For someone who is usually so in tuned to the emotions of others – he sure managed to put blinders on when dealing with his closest friends.

Unfortunately, Quatre knew that Trowa was just confused. Quatre and Trowa had helped each other get through the war… both emotionally and physically.

War is a very difficult thing to go through at any time, least of all when you're a teenager and your hormones are running amuck. When you accept the reality that you have no idea if you're going to live one day to the next; one might say that one can be a little more 'open to suggestion'.

In Quatre's mind, with the good and bad guys switching sides so often during the war, it was only natural that he and Trowa would turn to each other for reassurance and… mutual satisfaction.

Simply put, they could trust each other more than any other person, because the situations they were in were practically parallel. Even when Quatre had gone through his darkest times… Trowa was still there for him.

The fact that the war ended didn't stop Quatre from loving Trowa as his closest friend and confident. Looking back, he should have known then that opening the "Pandora's Box" on their experiences during the war could cause Trowa to see them as more than friends. But at the time…

Quatre sighed. Hindsight was 20/20. There was not much that could be done about it now, except what he had already tried. He explained his feelings to Trowa. Yes of course, they were very close friends… best friends even, but that was it.

Quatre wasn't gay, and he was pretty sure Trowa wasn't either. He only needed to understand his emotions a little better.

Quatre sighed, grabbing his head.

"I just can't take dealing with everyone else's emotions, anymore. Rashid was wrong. This isn't a blessing... It's a curse!" He slammed his fists into his desk and then started rubbing his temples trying to avoid the oncoming migraine.

'Even Melissa, the one person I'm suppose to be able to relax with... just tosses her feelings at me, without even knowing or caring about it.' He sighed. Having a girlfriend was way overrated.

…ESPECIALLY a _betrothed_ girlfriend. Unfortunately for Quatre, part of his fathers will stated that Quatre was to marry the daughter of one of his associates. Burdened by "...carrying on the Winner name." Quatre was beside himself with the unfairness of it all.

Did he not even get a chance to find love now that he'd crushed both his best friends hopes at it?

Now that the war was over, Melissa had insisted they spend more time together before they were married in two years after they both turned 18.

"How can someone so brainless, have such strong emotions?" Quatre marveled as he continued to attempt to ward off his migraine.

As if on a cue, the annoying intercom tone signaled from his secretary. "Mr. Winner. Melissa Goldburg is on line 1 for you."

Quatre tired to seem unfazed, but his voice came out in an impatient growl anyway.

"Tell her I'm busy. I'll BE busy all day, and I can't talk. Nor will I be able to make it for dinner tonight." he paused and then sighed waving his hand in an impatient dismissing manner, despite the fact that the secretary couldn't see him. "And send her a dozen roses or something." he mumbled.

His secretary was so surprised at his unusually harsh tone that she began stuttering. "Y-yes, ss-sir. Mr. Winner. Right away. So sorry for bothering you."

Quatre took a deep breath after he heard the click of the intercom disengaging.

"Great. Now I'm so worried that I'm taking it out on the help." He stood up and went into the next room, coming out with four aspirin and a glass of water.

"Headache?" Questioned a voice from the shadowed corner of the room.

Quatre tried to squint into the darkness until he realized that he recognized the voice.

"Trowa." he said pleasantly as he smiled. "Where have you been? I... I was worried." He stammered with a blush – realizing how stupid that sounded for him to worry about an adult who was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

The tall pilot stepped into the light, a look of concern on his normally neutral face. "You shouldn't work so hard." he said simply, brushing off Quatre's concern.

Quatre sighed, 'Just like Trowa. Sidestepping whatever he doesn't want to talk about. Sometimes I think he and Dorothy are more alike than they could ever imagine.'

He decided that rather than push the issue, he should just tell Trowa what was bothering him.

After he swallowed the aspirin and set the glass of water down, he plopped into his office chair.

Trowa raised an eyebrow at his carelessness which stuck on in contrast to his normally very polite and reserved demeanor.

"It's not really work that got to me. It's... it's about Dorothy." he said hesitantly, knowing full-well the negative feelings he would feel through Trowa at the very mention of her name.

Trowa's eyes darkened at the reference to the psychotic female who had stabbed Quatre on Libra. He knew of her and Quatre's friendship, although he highly disapproved. He didn't believe that there was anything good that could come from that manipulative girl.

However, Quatre would not be swayed from his high opinions of her. 'He is much to kind for his own good.' Trowa thought as he dismissed his more personal feelings and brought himself to ask, "What has she gotten herself into now?"

"She disappeared." Quatre said simply, greatly relieved that Trowa didn't seem to be emitting any seriously strong emotions at that moment.

Trowa tilted his head. Was he hearing right? 'Disappeared?' I always thought she had a thing for Quatre... maybe she finally got the hint. As I did...'

He shook his head of those thoughts. "Maybe just she doesn't want anyone to know where she is." he suggested neutrally.

Quatre looked so hurt for a moment that Trowa almost regretted saying it. However, Quatre spoke before Trowa could retract anything.

"I don't know, Trowa. Honestly, she was beginning to open up. There's something, something in her past that has hurt her very deeply, and every time she would get close to telling me, she would either avoid the subject or simply clam up. I'm worried about her. About what she'll do."

Trowa frowned, crossing his arms. "You're not a therapist. And besides. I'm sure she'll be fine. She's a strong woman." He paused before adding, "A strange one, but strong nonetheless."

Quatre bit his lip, his eyes tearing every so slightly. "I know... I know I'm not a therapist. And she is strong,… but, she's been through so much. And I can help her."

Trowa frowned. "Some people are beyond even your help, little one."

Quatre smiled as the familiar nickname wrapped him in a warm nostalgic feeling. However, the feeling was fleeting as he prodded softly. "I helped you."

Trowa blinked. Quatre had indeed helped him… in so many ways. The most recent episode was only another example. But, ... Dorothy? He shook his head in a helpless gesture, remaining silent until Quatre spoke again.

"Trowa will you please help me find her? Just so I can see if she's all right?" he pleaded, his eyes sparkling.

Trowa tried unsuccessfully to refuse. His logical mind was telling him that he was getting into more than he could ever imagine by trying to find her, but part of him... the part that loved Quatre… Yes still loved, even if it was more realized as an unromantic love.

Trowa remained silent for several seconds. Finally he nodded. "I'll see what I can find out." he said simply.

Quatre's eyes widened, hopefully. "Really, you promise?" He pleaded, his hands clasped in front of him, a smile breaking through his previously sorrowful visage.

Trowa took one last look into Quatre's eyes and then turned to leave through the window he had entered.

"I promise that I will do everything I can to locate her." he added as he exited through the window and was gone.

* * *

KatsyKat: (This chapter was revised in April of 2006.) And I'm sure that you know – I don't own any part of Gundam Wing nor do I make any profit from this little story. So… that aside, I'd love to know what you think! Perhaps a review…

Quatre: Well, if they're good people, they probably hated it.

Kat: Hey, that's MEAN! This was my very first series! (Now being edited one chapter at a time in addition to finishing it!)

Quatre: I can't help it. You've written me so OOC in this fic that I don't know what to do. I want Trowa... Waaaaa!

Kat: Well... uh... shh. tries to comfort the crying Quatre Please, stop. I promise this fic will get better! AND uh.. If you stop crying I might not put you with Melissa Queen of the Super Strong Superficial Emotions.

Quatre: sniffles really?

Kat: Yes! But that doesn't mean you'll be with Trowa… I've already written that plot point. I can't go backwards.

Quatre: but... but... well then, Who?

Kat: Oh, stop it. You'll see... eventually. That is if these kind reader-people want to review.

Quatre: turns Kawaii Chibi Please, people review!

Kat: Your feedback is - MUCH appreciated.

Chow! Kat '.'


	3. Memories of Dreams

**Alone  
**Chapter 3 **"Memories of Dreams"**

* * *

Trowa and Heero stared intently at one another through the visual monitor. It seemed a test of wills until finally Heero nodded, broke eye contact, and looked to the left of the screen, obviously scrutinizing another monitor. 

Although Trowa didn't show it, he was much relieved.

Trowa listened silently as he heard the rapid clicking of Heero's fingers flying over the keyboard. Finally Heero grunted. "So this is **not** a mission?"

Trowa shook his head. Only when he realized that Heero wasn't looking at him, did he speak.

"No. It's a... personal favor. I told Quatre that I would do everything I could. That means calling on the most competent computer hacker I know."

The only response Trowa received from Heero was his trademark, "Hn." However Trowa could have sworn that he saw a small look of satisfaction on the perfect soldiers face.

A few moments later Heero frowned and leaned forward, typing more furiously. "It would seem that Dorothy may not be Dermail's biological granddaughter." he said simply.

Trowa raised an eyebrow. 'Not his granddaughter?' "That doesn't make any sense."

Heero nooded. "I agree. Though it could be lead to her current whereabouts."

After a few more minutes of silence, Heero turned to Trowa. "This might take longer than anticipated. I'll keep you posted." With that, the screen in front of Trowa went black.

Trowa nodded, understanding that no one wanted someone looking over their shoulder. He leaned back and closed his eyes figuring that he'd catch a little sleep while Heero was working.

* * *

"Hey, you! Boy! Come here!" 

The command came from a very large, very serious looking soldier in nondescript jungle camouflage, who entered the small clearing in the forest. His muscles stretched his green tank top so tightly – it seemed a wonder it hadn't ripped when the soldier dressed.

A young boy on the thin side of 8 or 9 years old turned from washing his clothes in the stream. Clad only in underwear and a tank top, it was easy to see the reddened bandage wrapped high around his thigh. The injury, received during combat training earlier that day, had begun to bleed as the boy knelt at the rivers edge to wash the blood out of his only garments.

Accustomed to following orders, the boy immediately abandoned his task and began walking towards the voice.

The soldier smirked. His teeth gleamed feral in the moonlight. The dark shadow of a beard only added to the predatory look on his face as he scrutinized the approaching boy.

"I hear you're a lot of fun. And that's all I'm looking for... Some fun." He stumbled slightly on a tree root and grabbed the nearby tree to keep from falling over. At that moment it became obvious to the young boy that the soldier was drunk.

The boy stopped just out of arms reach, cautiously eyeing the man, as if he were weighing the new information.

"A goud time… Justa two of us…" The soldier continued, oblivious to the boy's hesitance. With the hand not supporting him against the tree, the man pulled out a flask and offered it to the boy. "Com'on, don't you want to have some fun?"

The soldier laughed, shaking the flask erratically, when the boy made no move to further approach him.

The boy, although appearing calm, was running frantically through his options. The one thing that was clear to him was that he did not want to stick around to find out what the soldier wanted, but that would not help the boy escape.

The older and MUCH larger man had effectively trapped the boy in between him and the fast flowing river that fed from the melting snow atop the nearby mountains. Even this late in the spring season… there was a very real chance of dying from hypothermia. Especially when considering the boy's lack of clothing and supplies to survive away from camp overnight, assuming he would even be able to pull himself out of the frothy river before he was frozen or crushed against one of the many rocks.

Despite the man's intoxication, he was much too close to the boy for him to try to run away. Considering the boy's injury, he wasn't sure he could be fast enough to get _around _the soldier. Also, even IF he managed to get past the man, the boy found that he wasn't willing to risk turning his back to this threat.

Just because the boy couldn't immediately see a gun, didn't mean the soldier wasn't carrying one. In fact it was unlikely that he was without at least one. They were trained mercenaries – and the first rule of thumb is to be ready for an attack at any moments notice.

By leaving his weapons at base camp, the boy had forgotten the most important rule. And he was now paying for it.

The soldier, obviously unfazed by the boy's silent composure took a swig from the flask before he spoke again, "You can make it hard on yerself, or it can be nice and easy fer us both." His eyes narrowed as he licked his lips, "You pick."

The young boy turned his body into a defensive position. He looked up, although his left eye hidden by his long crop of hair, the look in his right eye was enough to make his intentions clear as he drew back his small fists. Small as he was, it was obvious that he would be no match for the soldier, even while intoxicated, but the look on the boys face left no room for argument. He was going down fighting.

"Okey." the soldier grinned wickedly, putting away his flask and cracking his knuckles. "Mophun for me."

The man stepped forward, easily dodging the wide swing the child made at him. He chuckled as he backhanded the boy, sending him sprawling. The boy spit out a mouthful of blood, swiping at his face with the back of his fist as he scrambled to his feet.

The soldier lunged forward this time and the boy agilely dodged the incoming fist and went in for a devastating blow to the solar plexus.

The soldier anticipated this, and managed to block the attack, throwing the boy off balance. The soldier took advantage of the boy's disorientation and spun him around by the shoulder, wrapping him in a full nelson with his forearm locked around the boy's throat.

For a moment the forest was silent. The only sound heard above the rushing river was the boy's chocking breaths as he struggled for air against the pressure on his wind pipe and the blood that was still pooling in his mouth.

As the soldier reached for the boy's undergarments with his free hand, the boy renewed his struggles. He managed to stomp the soldiers right foot with a good amount of force. In surprise, the man loosened his grip enough for the boy to squeeze out of his hold.

Instead of running away, like the soldier anticipated, the boy dropped to the ground and with his first unrestricted breath steeled himself to turn and kick the man's legs out from underneath him.

His ploy worked, but with devastating results.

The boy had forgotten his injury and used the injured leg primarily in the kick. As the boy's contracted muscle connected with the man's ankles – the boy heard a ripping noise as a blinding hot flash of pain landed the boy on the ground as well.

Fighting the pain, the boy pressed his hand over the saturated bandage to try to curtail the gush of blood, as he struggled to get away… but the soldier already had him by the ankle.

As the boy turned to fight off the man's grasp, he was surprised by the blunt object that connected with his temple.

The soldier, who was more stunned than injured had gotten to his knees and had pulled his gun from his boot holster and cracked the boy with the handle.

"Awww. I kew you was gonna be ffun." the soldier said as he holstered his gun and rolled the boy onto his stomach. The boy tasted dirt mixing with the blood in his mouth as he lost his battle with consciousness and gave into the dizziness that gently faded into a warm nothingness.

* * *

Trowa woke with a start. It took him a moment to realize that the beeping monitor was what had awoken him. He ran his fingers through his hair quickly and answered the call with a neutral expression. 

Heero's face appeared instantly on the screen. If he had waited long he didn't say, but as Heero was known for, he got right to the point. "I'm sending over what I could find." he said.

Trowa turned as some papers began to feed out of his fax machine. Both former pilots sat in silence until the fax machine was quiet. Trowa raised an eyebrow at the small number of papers. He looked up at Heero.

Heero shrugged. "That's all I could locate. He was very good at covering his tracks, but no one's perfect." He spoke in his customary monotone, but his voice held a note of pride for those who knew what to look for.

"For more information," Heero continued, "I'd put my money on either Dermail's office paperwork or the storage bin on L2. That _would_ be a mission." he stated simply.

Trowa nodded absentmindedly, wanting to get to the paperwork. "I really…"

"Don't mention it." Heero interrupted. "Let me know if you need any further assistance." And before Trowa could marvel that THE Heero Yuy had just offered his "assistance" mission notwithstanding, Heero had terminated the call.

'Perhaps becoming part of Relena's security detail has been better for him than I realized.' Trowa mused while allowing himself a small smirk before he began reading the papers Heero had sent.

* * *

A young girl, obviously in the midst of adolescence, trekked through the snow away from a very large and rich-looking Victorian school. She wore only a flimsy coat over a torn silk blouse, a skirt that she had to hold up as the button was gone and only one of her dainty dress shoes. 

Her long blonde hair whipped unchecked around her face as a winter storm ravaged the entire cost of Maine. The girl's face was set in determination, despite the fact that her lips were blue and her face ashen.

She followed the main road for the better part of 20 minutes. Her bare foot – having long ago lost any feeling, was becoming more and more painful and unmovable, as a limousine pulled up along side of her. The dean of the school, an old woman of about 80, threw open the back door and spat two words at the girl. "Get in."

The girl gave the woman a hard look before coming to terms with the futileness of her situation and entered the car. The driver turned the car vehicle around as soon as the girl closed the door.

The old woman spoke in a harsh voice; after she was assured the glass dividing the two compartments was closed.

"I have already spoken to Professor McDade, and I must say I am in shock! The fact that he was _seduced_ by a twelve year old..."

"That is NOT what happened!" the girl screamed, her voice breaking as her throat caved to several long minutes of panting in the frigid air.

The dean set her lips in a straight line and took a deep breath before continuing. "Don't you _DARE _tell me what did or did not happen. Throughout the _entire_ history of this school, _NOTHING_ like this has ever happened. Prof. McDade and this school have an_ impeccable_ teaching record and I will not have it blemished by the fabrications of a twelve-year old WHORE." she spat.

The girl clenched her fists and willed herself not cry out at the unfairness of the situation.

"Now," the dean continued, under better control now that she saw the girl obeying, "I don't want you to think for a minute that just because you're the granddaughter of one of our highest benefactors you can get away with what you please at this school. If I ever hear even the falsest rumor of anything remotely like this in the future, you WILL be expelled."

The woman looked down her nose at the girl, her steely eyes seeming to penetrate the thin clothing the girl was wearing. "You are _never_ to speak of this incident again. Not a word, _not a Whisper_! It did not happen; I will hear no more if it. Have I made myself clear?" she demanded as the limo pulled up to the students dorm.

The girl's eyes narrowed. "Crystal." She spat.

The dean smiled, her countenance cold and hard. "Good. After all, we don't want people getting the wrong idea about the situation."

The young girl couldn't help throwing over her shoulder as she exited the vehicle. "Yeah, we don't want people to know I'm such a horny 12 year old that I'll rip off my clothes and jump on the nearest 50-year-old man to please myself."

The dean ignored her as she shut the girl's open door and instructed the driver to take her back to faculty building.

The girl, whose face was still void of tears, did go straight to her room to change. However, instead of her extra school uniform, she put on her fencing gear and headed down to the gymnasium, looking for a fight.

* * *

Dorothy jumped up in a cold sweat, her T-shirt twisted and clinging. "That dream..." she mumbled as she dropped her head into her hands. Before she could compose herself, there was a soft knock on her door. 

"Dorothy? Are you ok?" called a soft voice.

"Oh, yeah just peachy." she mumbled. Getting up, she smoothed her hair and wiped her face that was oddly wet, before she answered the door.

"I'm fine, Amanda." she told the girl, as she looked down into the her soft emerald eyes. Eyes that reflected concern and reminded her so much of... She shook her head.

"Bad dream." Dorothy mumbled as an explanation. She turned to go back to bed, as a thought struck her, causing her to look again at the short girl. "Did I wake you?" she asked.

Amanda shook her head, her short auburn hair bouncing lightly off of her full, almost chubby cheeks. "No. Actually, I wasn't sleeping." She shrugged, "If you don't mind my asking, what kind of a dream was it? I could hear you screaming all the way from the kitchen."

Dorothy blushed. "Sorry." she mumbled.

Amanda looked sympathetically at Dorothy. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dorothy immediately composed herself. She didn't need anyone's pity. "No." she said sharply. At Amanda's hurt look she softened her tone. "I don't really remember much when I wake up."

That wasn't a total lie. She didn't remember screaming, but she knew the dream well. It was one of many that plagued her night after night. She frowned. Of course, she never remembered crying before... She subconsciously wiped her face again to be sure there wer no tell-tale tears. Then she gave a very small tight-lipped smile to Amanda. "Thanks, anyway. I'll be all right."

She turned to go back to bed when she heard Amanda giggle. "Do you know what time it is?" Amanda asked.

Dorothy groaned. "Oh no. Please don't tell me it's..."

"4 am." assured Amanda, confirming Dorothy's worse fear. "We have to leave in twenty minutes."

Dorothy sighed. She had found a job the day she left her apartment. Although she still wondered if it was because of her persuasive abilities, Amanda's giving personality, or just plain dumb luck...

* * *

Dorothy rubbed her hands together trying to regain her circulation and muster up her courage. Was she actually afraid? 

'No, of course not.' she told herself. After all, she had stood up to much more than this. She had called the bluff of the great Heero Yuy. She had convinced the powerful Millardio Peacecraft, leader of the White Fang, to allow her to stand by his side in the greatest war the world had ever seen. She had bested a Gundam pilot in a fencing match. And she had manipulated the Romafeller foundation, the most powerful organization in the world. Surely getting a job at a quaint restaurant couldn't be more difficult than those things…

She looked up briefly at the restaurants front. It looked pretty nice. Not as high-class as she was used to, but decent enough to make good tips, she figured. And defiantly low-class enough not to meet anyone she might have associated with.

'Com'on Dorothy. You're stronger than this.' she urged herself to overcome nervousness.

Squaring her shoulders, she put on – what she believed to be – her most sincere smile and walked into the restaurant.

A short, perky girl with straight auburn hair to her chin greeted Dorothy almost immediately. "How many, and would you prefer smoking or non?" the girl asked while reaching for a stack of menus and dipping into a bucked of wrapped silverware.

Dorothy hesitated for a fraction of a second. Whatever she had expected, it wasn't that. The restaurants she attended were much more classy than that. After a moment, during which the girl's smile wavered slightly, Dorothy finally cleared her throat and spoke in a confident voice.

"Actually, I'd like to see the person in charge, please."

The girl's smile brightened. "Well than you're in luck. I'm the restaurant's head manager."

Dorothy blinked. The girl didn't look to be a day over 16. Her crystal-clear jade-green eyes sparkled with the kind of mirth that someone has when they're keeping a huge secret. And her body could defiantly use a little more exercise or a little less food, along with a few more years of development.

Pushing her first impression away, Dorothy smiled. "Well my name is..."

Dorothy hesitated. She had never known her real name. She hadn't even thought properly about creating a fake one. She certainly couldn't use Dorothy Catalonia. The Catalonia's were too well known. But, since she had gone by Dorothy for most of her life... realizing that it appeared she was stalling (who takes this much time to give their name?) she blurted out the first name that came to mind.

"My name is Dorothy. Dorothy Perdre." (it's pronounced pear-dra)

The girl's smile faltered but she raised her hand for Dorothy to shake. Before the girl could exchange her name Dorothy continued nervously, "You see. I noticed you're a little short on help." she thought it best that she didn't mention that she had seen the ad on an advertisement screen. No need to sound desperate. "And, I've found myself recently to be available." she continued, "So I was wondering..."

"You're looking for a job?" asked the girl, cutting to the chase as she smacked on a piece of gum.

"Y-yes, actually, I am." stuttered Dorothy, amazed at the girls frankness.

In politics and around the people that Dorothy had associated with, you never simply came out and said what you meant. That gave them an edge. You let them know that you would do a favor for them, if they did something for you. To get what you wanted across, you danced around the subject until it was obvious what you were after. Frankly Dorothy was refreshed by the girl's bluntness. It reminded her of Relena at her best. The only politician that was able to win Dorothy's respect.

The manager gave Dorothy a once-over. "You ever waited tables?" she asked with one eyebrow raised, as if daring Dorothy to lie.

Dorothy blushed. "Well, actully no. But, I catch on quick and I know..."

The girl raised her hand and smiled. "That's ok. You're right; we're really short on help right now. When can you start?"

"Uh... This might sound silly, but I am free now, if you'd like."

The girl smiled. "Alrighty then. Consider yourself hired. We'll do all the official stuff later." she held out her hand. "My names Amanda, and I'll be your boss." she grinned, with a wink.

Dorothy took Amanda's hand. "Thank you, Miss Amanda." she said sincerely.

Amanda stopped smiling and dropped Dorothy's hand as if it were a hot potato. "Um... I don't know what planet that came from. But I'm just Amanda, or Mandy if you want, ok Dorothy?"

Dorothy nodded mutely, embarrassed. She had to curtail her mannerisms more around the middle class if she wanted to be able to fit in.

Amanda ignored Dorothy's momentary lack of enthusiasm, as her smile returned full-watt.

"Alrighty then. Let's just go back and get you a uniform. You can greet today, until I can teach you the finer skills of the restaurant business." she laughed easily as she took Dorothy's arm and brought her back into the kitchen to begin.

Dorothy lips curled up slightly, as she remembered how Amanda had asked her to room with her the second day after they had met. Amanda claimed that she desperately needed help with the rent, but Dorothy, although too embarrassed to mention it, was sure that it was partly because Amanda realized that Dorothy had spent the worst night of her life in the STS.

* * *

"Colony L3 to Dorothy. This is Amanda speaking. Come in, Dorothy." Amanda spoke with a smile on her face while waving her hand in front of Dorothy's face. 

Dorothy finally blinked away the recent memory and the spacey look that had her face held for so long, was no more. She looked oddly at Amanda for a moment and then frowned. "I'll never know how you do it."

Amanda tilted her head. "Do what?" she asked.

"Be so cheerful at 4 o'clock in the morning when we have to go wait tables all day." Dorothy said with a groan as stretched her back. "And without a cup of coffee too. I'm jealous."

"Ah ah ah." tisked Amanda. "Wrong on both accounts. First of all." she held up one finger and then pointed it at Dorothy. "YOU are the one waiting tables today. I have to help in the kitchen. And secondly, I have had TWO cups of coffee this morning, thank you!" with that she turned on her heel and left Dorothy standing in the doorway to her room.

"If you get dressed, and I'll make you a cup before we have to leave." Amanda added over her shoulder.

Dorothy huffed shaking her head. "I'll never understand some people..." she muttered with a half-smile.

Trowa frowned as he reviewed the papers Heero had uncovered. Dermail had indeed covered his tracks very well. Trowa doubted he would have been near as through as Heero was in the investigation.

The top page was issued from Dermail's life insurance company. It stated that Dorothy, as Dermails only living relative, was entitled to a huge sum of money from them, as well as the majority amount of Dermails fortune. Because there an official will was never recorded, Dorothy simply needed to submit to a routine DNA testing.

Trowa frowned. The DNA testing law had been passed years before he was born. It was a preventative measure against the many people who claimed to be rich dead people's relatives. It basically stated that if there was no will found at the time of death, the insurance company was only authorized to give spouses or blood relatives the deceased persons benefits or assets.

After reading the next few pages, Trowa found himself perplexed. It would appear that Dorothy was unwilling to submit to the standard test. There were warnings from the company and finally a notice that Dorothy could no longer withdraw funds of any kind, because she would not submit to the test. The last correspondence was dated almost two months ago. More than a month before Dorothy disappeared.

At this point, it was obvious Heero had been suspicious as to whether or not Dorothy was indeed Dermails granddaughter. He broke into the hospital's employee records. It would seem that on the date of Dorothy's birth certificate, the doctor that had supposedly 'delivered' Dorothy was on a two week vacation.

Trowa shook his head. That didn't prove a lot on it's own.

Dorothy could have been born at home, only going in for a checkup later with the doctor who could have helped forged the file for the insurance company. However, Heero's obvious distrust in the matter proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Dorothy could not be Dermail's blood relative.

It seemed that Dermail's daughter and her husband, 'Dorothy's alleged parents,' died in After Colony 174 in a mysterious shuttle crash. Because of the mysterious nature of the crash, autopsies were performed. Although Dermail had kept the files top secret, Heero had located them. It seems that Dermails daughter was, in fact, completely barren.

Trowa frowned. They could have adopted. However, there was no evidence whatsoever that Dermail's daughter and her husband ever had contact with the child. Their tax statements up to the year of their death claimed "No Dependents".

Heero had gone so far as to pull up their financial statements. Never were their any unexplained doctors bills, any purchase of any of the things needed for a baby. It was fairly conclusive. The first real record of Dorothy's existence were a doctor's and dentist's report when she would have been 6 years old (according to seemingly falsified birth records).

Glancing over the papers once again, Trowa came to a conclusion. Besides the birth certificate, there was absolutely no evidence of Dorothy's existence before she was 6. Since everything started when she was six, that made it obvious that it wasn't a coincidence, and Dorothy must have only been brought into Dermail's life around that time.

He frowned, remembering Heero's remark... "I'd put my money on either Dermail's office paperwork or the storage bin on L2. That _would_ be a mission."

Trowa flipped through the packet of papers until he finally found the information he was looking for on the very last page. It seems that the company in charge of Dermails assets tried to get a hold of whatever was in a small storage bin on L2. The owner refused profusely, telling the company that Dermail had paid, well in advance and since it was paid for it didn't matter if he was dead or not.

It seems that the owner of the storage bin won a previously unprecedented court case, so whatever was in that bin remained a secret from the world.

Trowa frowned. What would be so important that Dermail would pay so far in advance for it to remain undisturbed? Certainly it couldn't have anything to do with Dorothy.

He shook his head. No, that didn't seem logical. He looked back over everything.

Heero had found a lot of information. But it was what he didn't find that Trowa was interested in. He didn't find any trace of Dorothy before she was 6, or after she left her apartment. There was nothing. No place she could go or would want to go, or... anything.

Trowa sat back. Where should he begin looking? He had to start a search, but she could be hundreds of thousands miles away from her apartment on L3. He frowned. '

'Why would she choose to live on a colony anyway? As far as I know she's from earth. Of course that's after she was 6. I wonder if she even knows where's she's from. Or who her real parents were...'

Trowa sat up suddenly from his slouching state. A DNA test! There had to have been a DNA test. Dermail was much too shrewd to have not covered his bases! But where would he keep files like that? He glanced over the papers again. Dermail had an office on Earth. And the government had taken all the official documents to be sorted at...

"Damn." He cursed as he double checked the paper. The papers were all in top secret storage at the Preventer headquarters. "A mission indeed..." mumbled Trowa, as he wondered weather or not he really wanted to risk everything and go gung-ho into Preventer headquarters just to find someone like Dorothy. Even for a favor for Quatre that was asking a lot.

As he was still mulling over the options, his monitor beeped. Turning it on, he found Quatre's hopeful face beaming at him.

"Hi, Trowa. Did you find her yet?" he asked; so hopeful and trusting.

Trowa hated to disappoint him, but he had to shake his head. "Not yet, Quatre. But I'm on to something." he promised.

At Quatre's fallen face, Trowa made his decision.

'Preventers. You better watch out, because I'm got to check out those files. Whether you like it or not...'

* * *

KatsyKat: So, there's the third part – revised April 2006. Whew! I've noticed that in my revisions I'm making the story a little more… darkly detailed. I hope that doesn't offend anyone too much. Please feel free to let me know what you think.Heero: Hn. 

Kat: What?

Heero: Nothing.

Kat: Oh Please, despite what people may thing, you never just, "Hn." for nothing!

Heero: I noticed that at least you got me, somewhat in character... unlike Quatre.

Kat: thinks oh really? Well, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel left out! I can change it…

Heero: (focuses the infamous death-glare on Kat)

Kat: (backs away with hands up in a surrender motion) Ha.. ha. Just kidding. runs away

Heero: (shrugs and focuses glare on readers) Hn... (Translation of last Hn: Review... or else.)


	4. The Logic of Friendship

**Alone  
**Chapter 4 "**The Logic of Friendship"**

* * *

Trowa dropped himself to the floor of the darkened basement without a sound and reached up to silently close the small window in a single fluid motion. It was lucky for him that the Preventors office was in one of the oldest buildings on Earth. Although the building had been upgraded with top of the line motion detectors and additional pressure sensors on the windows, it was an easy matter for Trowa to find and deactivate the tripping mechanisms. 

As the system was obviously installed 'after market,' the concrete had a slightly different color where the contractors had filled in the holes they had to drill for the wires. Trowa merely had to drill a hole into the fresh concrete, make sure she didn't drill far enough to damage the wires, and do the quick splice to loop the wires and disconnect the sensors themselves.

Hard part completed, Trowa looked around. He quickly surveyed the over-packed room with his flashlight, being sure to keep the light down so it wouldn't be visible from the outside. After he was satisfied that there was no one else in the room, nor did there appear to be any other security devices present, Trowa made his way to a corner of the room where he began booting up an ancient-looking computer.

After a few minutes of searching the database, Trowa was perturbed to discover no record of Dermail or his files. That could only mean that the files he was looking for were considered so trivial that no one had bothered to document them electronically. It would seem the only place they could be was… within one of the many boxes haphazardly stacked and strewn all over the basement.

Trowa frowned, not enjoying the fact that this was turning out to be much more grunt work than he anticipated. He turned in a slow circle shining his flashlight from box to box looking from identification numbers to dates and sometimes names.

Just as he finished checking the first two rows and was moving to check the last one, he heard the click of a latch and footsteps descending the stairs.

Trowa reacted quickly, turning off his flashlight and he considered ducking behind the file cabinets and boxes, but at the last minute – looked up. The ceiling was almost 9' high, but in several sections with a 7' clearance, there were large steel beams spanning the building. The beams were several feet apart, but they were 6" wide.

More than suitable.

Trowa leapt from the floor and grabbed the closest beam. Pulling his legs up – he skimmed the ceiling a bit as he allowed the momentum of his body to carry him onto the beam. He laid flat and froze just as a bright florescent light – only inches from his dilated pupils – filled his vision with pink and green spots.

Trowa listened as the footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs and continued with measured paces into the basement room. Mentally cursing his lack of forethought to face the doorway in stead of away from it, Trowa laid as still as possible as moments passed.

In the silence the click of a safety being disengaged was audible. Trowa frowned – afraid to turn his head to look towards the sound.

"I know you are here. You are trespassing on government property. Surrender yourself into my custody and you will not be harmed." spoke a familiar voice.

Trowa frowned, recognizing the voice immediately. He rolled from the beam and landed standing straight up with his hands raised in a surrendering position, facing the officer.

The Chinese Preventor added a raised eyebrow to his scowl as he returned his gun to its holster. "Barton." He said in an even tone.

After Trowa had lowered his hands, they both stood in silence, each eyeing the other, until Wufei spoke again. "What are you doing here?"

Trowa hesitated for only a second until he gave a brief summary of the situation to Wufei.

After hearing as much as he needed, Wufei scoffed, "So now you're looking for Dermail's files to find out Dorothy's background and try to ascertain where she could have gone?"

Trowa nodded. "That's pretty much it."

Wufei crossed his arms. "And that warrants 'breaking and entering?' You know that protocol demands I report you to be put on trail."

Trowa lowered his head trying to contain a smile at the predictability of Wufei's conviction. Hoping it wouldn't land him in jail he spoke.

"Well if I'd known you'd been promoted to guard duty, I would have thought twice about it." Trowa quipped.

"That was either a very badly veiled insult, or a fairly amusing joke."

After a long pause, Wufei chuckled. "The rookie on duty noticed the blip in the energy output for the window sensors." He explained, "He tried but could not run a complete diagnostic." Wufei paused and Trowa could have sworn he saw something akin to pride on Wufei's face as he continued.

"As he was one of my direct subordinates, he understands the importance of being thorough – and he was about to set out to investigate. However, when he made call to me to authorize his abandonment of post, as protocol denotes – I thought it sounded like something I should investigate personally."

Trowa nodded. "I'm glad you did. If I have to be escorted into custody, I'd rather it be by you." Trowa waited with baited breath to see if Wufei would be honor-bound to follow through with his threat to arrest him. After all, it wouldn't be the first time Wufei had exposed him for his 'greater good'. Trowa allowed himself a bitter smile at that ironic thought, as Wufei spoke.

"It seems that I have a comrade in need. The only noble course of action would be to help." Wufei made a motion with his head indicating that Trowa was to follow him as he turned to exit the room.

Wufei led Trowa down a rusted metal staircase that Trowa had completely missed when he first surveyed the dark basement. 'Must be slipping.' He thought to himself as they descended to the lower basement level.

Under lights that were much dimmer than above, Trowa saw neat, organized rows of boxes – stacked on shelves in several rows. After he and Wufei split up they managed to locate the three boxes of various papers and files from Dermails office fairly quickly.

Trowa opened the first box and sifted quickly through outdated information on the war as well as miscellaneous invoices and addendums dating back decades.

Wufei sorted the second, showing Trowa slightly more interesting files detailing different politicians. Some files contained information relevant to voting, and others had what appeared to be blackmail information. However, as with the first, there was nothing to be found about Dorothy.

With slight apprehension, Trowa turned to the third and final box. Inside, he found an array of personal items including an almost outdated version of a data-pad journal. He pressed on the power button, but nothing happened. Knowing it wouldn't do any good, did not stop Trowa from repeatedly pressing the button several times in frustration.

"Perhaps the power cell was depleted." Wufei commented mildly after he noticed Trowa furiously fiddling with the buttons.

Trowa frowned. "Or this model… the '8-8'" Trowa read off the back, "could be password protected."

Wufei frowned, thinking, before he asked, "Am I correct in thinking that a password needs to be entered before the data-pad will complete the electrical circuit to start up?"

Trowa nodded. "As far as I know."

"Do you think you could find the coil and connect a battery to override the key circuit?"

"Not if this is anything like their 10-6 model. The memory chip is set to completely erase if an unrecognizable power source fluxes before passing through the coil." Trowa explained as he continued to examine the object.

Wufei raised an eyebrow, "Still finding time to keep up with the latest security advances, I see." He paused when Trowa didn't reply, but began turning the pad over in his hands, deep in thought.

"You could utilize that knowledge well as a Preventor." Wufei added softly, knowing that it was an issue with the stoic pilot – even if he had no idea why that should be.

Trowa stiffened. It wasn't that he hadn't given the possibility any thought. After that night MairaMaia's army had given up of their own free will, the possibility of lending his unique skills to the Preventor Organization was never far from his thoughts. There was no denying that being in a mobile suit had renewed his sense of purpose, if only momentarily. Perhaps, joining up with people who dedicated their lives to the same purpose would renew his.

But no matter how many times Trowa had considered the opportunity, or how often it had been brought up by the other pilots – as they each made their decisions regarding the future – Trowa found he could not bring himself to enlist willingly in yet another government-run organization.

For too long he had answered to no one but his own conscious – and the idea of being under new protocols and having to answer for his every action made him feel strangely claustrophobic.

In fact, of the 5 pilots (all of whom had considered the new Preventor organization very carefully), it came as no big surprise that only Wufei had enlisted.

Trowa, was not alone in thinking that there was something deeper than honor that Wufei had signed up for. Something… (or rather someone that wore two French braids) had obviously affected Wufei greatly during the war, and he had swayed his purpose to align with hers; whether he knew it yet or not.

Quatre, of course, had other, long-standing matters to attend to, and was currently trying to fill his father's shoes. Trowa wished the blonde would take some more time for himself now and again, but he knew that, to Quatre, taking time away from helping others was out of the question. And he stuck true to his purpose, which Trowa could only respect.

Duo had claimed that being in a government agency would deem his theme "I may run and hide, but I'll never tell a lie." null and void, because governments didn't do anything BUT lie. However, Trowa suspected that the fiery German waiting back on L2 had more to do with Duo's reluctance to be at the beck and call of some agency.

Heero had opted to a far more… personal position, in maintaining the peace. Stationed as the man directly in charge of Relena's security detail, it seemed that handling things on the preventative side of terrorism was mellowing him out. Or perhaps it was Relena's influence that was causing the Wing pilot to seem more settled as of late.

But Trowa was much more of a loner than the others; even Wufei could be considered "social" in comparison. Although rough with his graces – Wufei had grown up knowing who he and his people were. Inspired by the history of his clan, Wufei's path had naturally taken him to a position that he could make his ancestors proud. While, Wufei might chose to seclude himself and work alone more often that not – he still had a deep-seated sense of honor and respect for others that spurned him to keep himself in check – and fuel his purpose.

But Trowa had none of these things. Not that he was one to sit and mope about it. However, even throughout the war, had never found a place he felt that he truly belonged. He had not even considered finding a purpose beyond "achieving peace".

And now that they had – Trowa had finally admitted to himself – he felt a little lost.

Of course, he stayed with the circus and Kathy. The constant traveling of the circus and the whirlwind of constantly changing clientele appealed to his torn and wondering soul. And Kathy, knew how much he cared for her and expressed her willingness to care for him as long as he wanted to stay without asking for more.

Regardless of their decisions, Trowa surmised that the other four pilots seemed to be relatively happy in the newest era of peace. They had found their place in the world and were happy to fulfill it. Even Zechs had Noin and his project on Mars… Trowa halted his thought abruptly when he realized that he and Wufei had been standing in silence for quite some time while Trowa inadvertently stood wallowing in his own personal pity party.

What was wrong with him? There would be plenty of time to drown himself in his sorrows when there was not a task to be completed.

He shook himself momentarily, remembering the comment Wufei had made about the organization. "Thank you for the compliment, but I'm afraid I've become too accustomed to breaking up organizations to be content belonging to one." He replied with what he hoped seemed just enough humor.

Wufei, as to be expected, took the answer in stride with a nod of his head and returned to the matter in Trowa's hand. "So do you think you could get that thing to work?" He asked.

Trowa frowned, taking one last look over the contents of the third box before shutting it and turing to Wufei. "I think it's possible. But not here. Would I be able to…"

Wufei held up his hand, cutting Trowa off mid-sentence.

"If you want to sign it out officially, you will have to get the co-sign of a standing Preventor and notarize a receipt through the book-keeper after you're been approved through the primary remaining relative contact."

Trowa grimaced, assuming that he'd run out of leeway from the normally uptight officer before Wufei continued.

"However..." Wufei turned and began walking to the staircase leading to the first basement level. "Since I didn't see anyone here, there's no proof that anything's missing." He added as he began ascending the metal stairs.

Trowa gave a rare smile. "Thank you, Wufei." he said at last, just before Wufei's polished shoes left his line of vision.

"I wish you luck finding what you're looking for." Wufei called down, causing Trowa to wonder if he'd been so readable during the few moments of silence earlier. Determined not to dwell, he made his way out the same way he entered.

Wufei engaged the lock to the basement storage door and turned purposefully towards the security room. He forced himself to push his concern over the most confusing of the Gundam pilots to the back of his thoughts. His mission now was to concoct a good enough story for his subordinate, and secretly alter the basement level II camera footage to ensure that no one would know of Trowa's visit.

* * *

Dorothy shifted from right foot to left, trying to relieve some of the pain her feet were enduring. An 18-plus hour day was enough to make anyone's feet sore. But now, it was only 15 minutes 'till close. "Fif-teen-min-nits-fif-teen-min-nits" became her mantra as she wrapped the silverware for the next morning. 

Amanda walked up to her, unusually nervous, which Dorothy picked up on immediately. "Hello... Dorothy." Amanda said, so very different from her normal chipper greeting. "I need to see you in the office after you lock the doors."

Dorothy nodded, trying to maintain her smile as she imagined what could be the matter. She remembered the last time she'd been in "the office." It was the night she was hired, in fact.

* * *

**(flashback...)**

"Whoo-Hoo!" Cheered Amanda as she locked the door after the last of the nights customers had left. "Now." she turned to Dorothy, "We'll just let Charlie and his crew finish cleaning up, while we get your paperwork done. To... The OFFICE." she said dramatically as she pointed and then proceeded to march through the kitchen.

Dorothy tried to smile, ignoring the fact that it was now time to fess up. She only hoped that she had worked hard enough on her first day to make a good impression. She ignored her nervousness and tried to smile. "You make it sound like a torture cell." she told Amanda.

Amanda grinned. "Yeah, well, it gets used just about as often. We don't really need it except to file paperwork and we HATE doing that, so we refer to it like it's a really bad thing."

Dorothy forced a chuckle. "Oh I see."

Amanda closed the office door and invited Dorothy to sit. She tossed a packet of papers about an inch thick in front of Dorothy and then handed her a pen.

Dorothy poised the pen over the first line marked 'name', and then stopped. She set the pen aside and looked up at Amanda who was sitting across from her, with an intrigued look on her face.

"What's wrong?" Amanda asked.

Dorothy sighed. "You must know... I mean... I have to tell you." she sighed. She wasn't very good at this truth thing.

Amanda spoke softly. "You're running from something."

Dorothy shot her a look. "How did..."

"It wasn't too hard. May I ask, is it a person? …or an event?"

Dorothy paused. "Neither..." She caved at the knowing look on Amanda's face, "…and both, I suppose."

Amanda nodded. "I don't suppose Dorothy is your real name."

Dorothy lowered her head, shrugging nonchalantly. "It is and it isn't. I never knew my real name."

Amanda sighed. "How sad..."

Dorothy snapped her head up. "I don't want your pity." she said in a cold voice full of contempt.

Amanda was taken aback. "I... I didn't mean it like that."

"Dorothy it is." she added more cheerfully

Dorothy took a deep breath, reminding herself that if she lost this job, she didn't have any other options at the moment. She closed her eyes, willing herself to pick up this role as easily as she had all the others she played throughout her life. When she opened her lids, she was ready to play the helpless employee. She sat back, half closing her eyes and slouching in on herself. Once she was the epitome of a person in a dejected and defeated position, she began speaking in a much gentler voice, "Sorry. I tend to be a bit defensive."

Amanda smiled, "Understandable." She glanced from Dorothy to the paperwork once before continuing. "Look." she motioned towards the papers. "I'll tell ya what. You don't have to fill out any of that."

Dorothy resisted the urge to smile, and forced her mouth down instead as she furrowed her eyebrows as if she were concerned. "That won't get you into trouble?"

"I'll manage." Amanda assured her as she whisked away the stack of papers and ushered Dorothy out of her office.

Dorothy nodded, her face falling into an unreadable expression. Truthfully, more than concerned, she was plain confused at the turn of events. She didn't know whether to be happy that Amanda was helping her out, or upset that she felt Dorothy needed special treatment so badly she wasn't even asking questions.

Deciding that it would be better to simply dismiss the whole thing, Dorothy followed the shorter woman out with a small air of accomplishment.

* * *

**(PRESENT DAY...)**

Dorothy twisted the key to lock the doors after the last two customers had left. She looked at the clock. 11:15. Not bad. There had been worse nights. She sighed as she headed towards the office, nervousness making itself known as a huge ball in her stomach.

Was it just her, or was the kitchen unusually quiet? She walked briskly through, chin high, ignoring the sympathetic look from the cook, Charlie. When she got to the office, she was surprised to feel her heart beating so quickly.

Amanda motioned for her to sit, and looked at her sympathetically. The silence lay thick between the two friends, until Dorothy spoke. "Whatever it is, you can just tell me."

Amanda folded her hands. "I know that you've been working really hard to make rent." Dorothy nodded. It took most of her paycheck to pay her half of rent and utilities.

Amanda continued, "And I thought I could get away with it, but... I can't keep giving you overtime. The colony government has been cracking down on taxing business profits, and the owner has been asking questions about some of our costs. Since you haven't filled out all the paperwork…" Dorothy opened her mouth to object but Amanda rushed on.

"I KNOW that I was the one who told you not to worry about it. And you don't have to, it's MY problem, it's just that I can only give you regular hours now. No more overtime. 40 hours a week." she lowered her eyes.

Dorothy nodded, lowering her head.

Amanda tried to be chipper. "But just think, at least you'll have some days off now."

"Yeah." mumbled Dorothy. "To look for another job."

Amanda sighed. "I'm sorry."

Dorothy nodded. "I know." She assured Amanda turning to the door, "Don't wait up." she added softly as she stepped out, as always, the image of composure.

As the latch clicked shut, Amanda bowed over the desk trying desperately to suppress the tears dripping freely from her face. "Your emotions… are so strong…" she whispered, "Have you ever acknowledged them?"

Dorothy scarcely remembered leaving the restaurant as she paced the dark streets. She knew that she had work in a few hours, but an eight hour shift would probably pass very quickly considering that she was used to working 14 hours or more.

There was no way around it. She had to get another job. But, what? where? There were no restaurants hiring in the area. The economy in this particular colony, although not failing, was far from optimal. Dorothy had always been a good listener and was not deaf to the many customers complaining of lost jobs or futile job searches. Aside from that, there weren't many places she could work, considering technically she hadn't even finished high school.

'Hell I'm only 17.' She allowed herself a moment of pity before her ever-analyzing thoughts turned once again to solving her present dilemma.

'Why don't you ask Quatre for money?' she asked herself. 'You know he's probably worried about you anyway.'

She shook her head enjoying for a moment the comforting swish of her prized hair.

'No. I won't ask him... but why? As much as I want it to be because of my pride, that's really not it. Face it Dorothy, you'd beg the homeless out of their coat in the middle of winter if it served you.'

Dorothy lowered her head in thought. 'Well, that might not be entirely true, but it does have a grain of truth in it. But if pride is not my reason to stick to this seeming life of slavery just trying to get by… then what is?'

'It would be an easy thing to ask for help. Surely Miss Relena would be willing…'

She shook her head. 'But you won't go... you silly blonde. What am I trying to prove?' she paused in her musings.

'Prove.' now that was an interesting word. 'Is that what I'm doing?... trying to prove that I can make it... on my own... without help?'

She paused a moment, wondering why that felt as if that fit somehow.

'But who do I have to prove anything to?... Quatre?'

She frowned.

'No. That's not right. He accepts the parts of me I'm not even willing to look at let alone come to terms with.'

'Relena?'

'Hardly. That girl is so blinded by her faith in humanity, she's accepting even of one such as myself.'

'Perhaps myself then…'

Dorothy blinked hard, stopping dead on the sidewalk. She scarcely heard the curse of the man behind her as he yanked his daughter hard by the hand to avoid crashing into her backside. The rude look he threw over his shoulder was missed completely, as she stood as frozen, deep in thought.

'I've never done anything just for myself.'

'I've lived my life entirely for other people: First Treize, then Dermail… Relena… Millardio… and even...'

'No!' countered the voice.

However she nodded almost against her will. 'Even Quatre. I saw him for what he needed to be. It's almost like I felt I was doing him a favor by letting him... what do I call it? Try to HEAL me?'

Dorothy laughed out loud: a cold bitter laugh that echoed from the nearby alley.

'Trowa was right... I can't just be glued back together...'

* * *

**(Flashback...)**

Quatre nodded as his servant set the tea tray on the small table between the large refurnished chairs in which he and Dorothy sat. "Thank you." he said waving his hand with a slight bow of his head. "That will be all."

Dorothy smiled as the young servant girl left. It was a genuine smile, rarely seen by anyone other than Quatre. "You sound like an Emperor." She teased.

Quatre blushed. "Well, it's how these people were raised. If I try to be kinder it makes them uncomfortable, so I've had to stick with please and thank you which they seem to appreciate it enough. It's a compromise." He put emphasis onto the word 'compromise' wanting Dorothy to pick up on it as he poured and handed her a cup of tea.

She ignored his implying tone enjoying, for once, the comfortable silence that stretch out.

After sipping the tea, she smiled. "This is different." she remarked.

"You don't like it?" asked Quatre, with a slightly worried look on his face, as he began to drink his own tea.

"I didn't say that." remarked Dorothy as she took another sip. "It's just... different. I've never tasted anything quite like it."

Quatre smiled. "Actually, I was recently introduced to it myself. It's called Green Tea. I've become rather fond of it." He paused a moment before continuing, "Bet you'll never guess who introduced it to me."

Dorothy became thoughtful. She tilted her head and set the delicate teacup into the saucer on the table between them. "Wufei." she said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Quatre sat back a moment, a look of mild confusion on his face, as he attempted to understand what brought her to her off-the-wall conclusion. "May I ask how you came up with that?"

Dorothy smiled, but it was no longer a genuine smile. It was that of the serpent as it grasped its prey, but before it squeezed, as if enjoying the moment of surprise from the helpless animal.

"Of course you may ask." she tilted her head a moment, in control and poised perfectly. "Because you said I would never guess, I would assume the person to be one whom I would not normally see you conversing with at all, let alone a person that would not be inclined to speak about tea. By realizing that you didn't expect me to guess correctly, I immediately dismissed my first three choices. Which would be," she counted on her slender fingers. "… any one of your sisters, any of the maquanic's, and Trowa."

Quatre smiled politely, encouraging her to continue as he took another sip of his tea and listened patiently.

Dorothy continued. "Then realizing that I couldn't simply go on gut instinct, I thought about the type of tea. Green tea. Unless I'm gravely mistaken,..." she said as if she were positive she was not mistaken, "It is from either ancient Japan or China, and was often drank to ward off sickness. This previous knowledge led me to believe that you would have gotten it from either Heero or Wufei. Since, Heero seems to be the more obvious choice as you have spent the most time with him, I chose Wufei." she sat back sipping her tea.

Quatre shook his head, smiling. "It was, actually Trowa."

Dorothy frowned.

Quatre looked at her, intrigued by one of her many very sudden mood changes. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I was wrong." she stated simply. "My logic was flawed, somehow…." She looked discreetly out the window as if unable to meet Quatre's eyes, "It seems to happen quite often." she said quietly as she picked up her teacup and resumed sipping.

Quatre smiled, suppressing a chuckle that he knew would be misunderstood. "Your logic was not flawed. The only thing that was flawed was the fact that you used logic in the first place."

Dorothy tossed him a glare. "Logic is the best way to formulate a solution."

Quatre smiled, again. "It wasn't a… problem-solving equation. You're not being graded. It was merely... a conversation starter. When I said you'd never guess, I simply expected you to guess."

Dorothy sighed. "I'm no good at guessing."

"Clearly." replied Quatre as he smiled to let Dorothy know he was teasing.

Dorothy tried to be upset, but as she looked over and lost herself in his eyes... she found herself smiling as well. After a moment she spoke again. "So, why didn't you expect me to guess Trowa. He is, after all, a pretty obvious choice."

Quatre paused in thought. Finally he said simply. "I assumed you would know Trowa is not particularly fond of tea. He hardly ever drinks it. He only told me of it, because his sister, Catherine, suggested that I might like it when he told her how fond of tea I was."

Dorothy nodded and smiled very coldly.

Quatre felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his spine and repressed the urge to shudder as Dorothy spoke.

"So, you see. Logic would have prevailed IF I had all the information. The reason I came to the incorrect conclusion is because my information was incomplete, not that my logic was flawed." She countered.

"It wasn't meant to be a competition." Quatre told her simply to end the discussion before it got out of hand. "You don't have to be so defensive." He said meekly, as usual, having no idea how to diffuse her once she became agitated about something.

He allowed the stillness to hang in the room a short time before something clicked. Cautiously he added, "Not everyone is trying to best you, Dorothy."

Dorothy closed her eyes briefly. He hit a nerve. When she opened them she was surprised to see Quatre squatting in front of her. His warm hand rested on her knee – as if reaching out to her heart.

For a second she wondered how long he allowed her to sit there with her eyes closed, but as she stared into his eyes for a moment, so caring, so compassionate… her thoughts were cut off by his voice.

"You realize that, don't you?" Quatre asked, his eyebrows slightly raised giving him a cute questioning expression.

"Realize what?" she whispered; a blush spreading, against her will, across her porcelain cheeks.

Quatre, as if realizing how close they were suddenly cleared his throat and stood. "That every one is not against you. That life is not a competition that you either win or lose. Some people are on your side."

Dorothy's blush disappeared and her face one again turned stormy. "Everyone's always been against me." she stated coldly as she stared past Quatre, and focused outside of the huge window directly behind him.

Quatre blinked and a look of sympathy crossed his face. He had been so close…

"If you really feel that way, than your defensive actions are correct." said a voice across the room.

Dorothy jerked her head to glare at the intruder while Quatre smiled warmly.

"Trowa. How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Long enough." said Trowa simply before turning to Dorothy. "I was once told, and have come to believe, that the only way to live a good life is to follow your emotions."

Dorothy stood glaring at Trowa. "Last I knew, this was a private discussion. But, since everyone feels the need to throw in their two cents, I'm afraid I've been over charged." She turned quickly and stopped at the door saying curtly over her shoulder. "This was lovely Quatre, we must do it again sometime."

With that she strode out of the room; her high heels clicking quickly on the polished wood floors as she left.

Quatre turned to Trowa and sighed. "You really upset her, you know that? I think she was finally starting to open up."

Trowa's face remained neutral as he spoke. "Quatre, you do realize that she's not some shattered porcelain doll you can glue back together. She doesn't seem to need or even want your help. It would probably be better if you both went your separate ways."

Quatre sighed. "You're wrong, Trowa. She does need help. She just doesn't know it."

Trowa looked at Quatre, with his visible eyebrow raised. "Even if she does need help, why does it have to be you?"

Quatre sighed. "Because no one else will."

Trowa frowned, but could think of nothing to counter the blonde's true statement. And so the two friends remained quiet as the closing of the front door became audible.

* * *

**(PRESENT DAY...)**

Trowa frowned. As he previously surmised, Dermail was indeed only introduced to Dorothy when she was 6, but the surprising thing was the way they were introduced. Apparently, Treize himself at the tender age of thirteen had tried to harbor the orphaned girl.

Why?...

The damned journal didn't say.

Did he have DNA tests preformed?...

The damned journal didn't say.

Did she have ANY clue who she was?...

The DAMNED journal didn't say that either!

In frustration, Trowa slammed the book shut.

'All that for nothing.'

After seething a little while, Trowa sighed. 'Back to square one...'

However, ssomething nagged at him. If Treize had known Dorothy before she was six, maybe he told…

"Une..." he said aloud, as he grabbed his coat and rushed back to Preventor headquarters.

* * *

KatsyKat: This chapter was revised May 2006. So…? What did you think? Please review – I love those things! 

Trowa: Excuse me.

Kat: What? What's wrong, aren't you suppose to be more silent?

Trowa: (raises eyebrow) Don't ask me. You're writing this stupid fic, and I'm so out of character… I daresay I was more OOC than Wufei! And you slaughtered the poor guy! Do you think that these people can actually visualize me being this talkative, or emotional?

Kat: sweatdrop well... they've got imaginations don't they?

Trowa: ...

Kat: grins There! Is that any better for you?

Trowa: ...

Kat: He's speechless. Isn't that cute? (grin) So now, Trowa's in character. :D Thanks again for reading!


	5. Reasons

**Alone**  
Chapter 5** "Reasons"**

* * *

Dorothy walked the few remaining blocks to the apartment she and Amanda shared. As soon as she unlocked the door, she headed straight to her bed. Barely taking time to strip out of her uniform, she tossed on a T-shirt and collapsed, falling instantly to sleep. 

She had worked an 8 hour shift after having been up the entire night and day before wandering aimlessly around the colony. Contemplating so much, she had been forced to exert herself physically to quiet down her speeding thoughts.

First and foremost on her mind had been the question of how she was going to meet her share of the rent. She knew that Amanda would help her as best as she could, but Dorothy had her pride. Or what was left of it, anyway. Which meant that, first thing, after she got some sleep she would be looking for another job.

One of the biggest realizations during Dorothy's escapade had been the understanding that by not asking any of her wealthy 'friends' for help she was not trying to maintain some false sense of pride. Rather this was her opportunity to re-evaluate her self-worth on a much more personal level. If she could make it out of a situation like this, then she could make it anywhere. It would prove to herself that she could rise above her past.

She actually found a sense of contentment working herself to exhaustion. She wasn't sitting around worrying about which battle was going to start where, and which delegate had what voting power for or against some stupid bill. She enjoyed not having time to wrap her mind around things she might never be able to change. The simplicity of focusing on day-to-day challenges was rewarding like nothing else she had done in her short life. And now it was time to overcome the obstacle set before her… making more money.

Dorothy now understood why she could no longer read or watch the news… It had bothered her at first that she didn't understand why, but she found herself unwilling to pick up a newspaper or turn on the new station. It was so unlike the person she'd been before, hungry to any new information regarding politics or economics.

In the eight weeks since she had… left her old life behind. She had almost completely cut herself off from the outside world by focusing on working at the restaurant and keeping up the apartment each day. She enjoyed the reality of it. Unlike so many things in her life, surviving was tangible… the reward was life.

With these thoughts, Dorothy had finally found some measure of peace and fell asleep content... the clock reading 2:11pm.

* * *

Trowa knocked on the door outside Lady Une's office. He had requested an appointment with her secretary, and was surprised to be told only a few moments later, that she would see him immediately. 

He heard a voice from within tell him to come in. He cautiously opened the door and saw Lady Une on an old fashioned version of a hand-held phone. She motioned for him to have a seat. He did so and prepared himself to wait for the phone call to end when he was surprised as Lady Une changed the course of her conversation.

"Yes, I understand the urgency of all this Mr. President, but I do have an important meeting to attend right now... yes... yes of course, I will. Just as soon as I can. All right… Yes… good-bye."

Lady Une smiled at Trowa as she hung up the phone. "It amazes me the things these democrats want done. Sometimes they just have to be put in their place."

Standing, she motioned for Trowa to follow her to a more personal part of her office. The corner smacked of upper aristocratic tastes – comfortable and stylish Victorian era chairs flanked a mahogany table.

Trowa began speaking as he took a seat, "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

Une nodded waving her hand, "It was nothing. Mister Treize would have done anything for you pilots, and so will I." she poured a cup of tea from the lavish tea tray sitting on the table. Trowa found it slightly odd that the tea tray was complete with two cups as if it had been waiting for the two of them to meet. He was jarred from his curiosity as the Lady spoke again. "May I ask what has brought you here so suddenly?"

Trowa held up his hand, declining the cup of tea Une offered, and decided to get straight to the point. "I was hoping you could help me. I need some information."

Une furrowed her brows. "Something you couldn't find in our database?"

Trowa shook his head. "It has to do with Dorothy Catalonia."

Something flickered across Lady Une's face but disappeared before Trowa could identify it.

"What about her?" she asked simply.

"She's disappeared." he said, "I'm trying to locate her. I know that things are not as they seem and that she was not Dermail's granddaughter. Treize was, in fact, the first one officially to meet her as far as I can tell. Normally I wouldn't pry, but since I can't speak with Treize, I was wondering if he had said anything to you about her past. I wonder if she might have gone back to her roots..." he trailed off as he noticed the stricken look on Une's face.

"You, you aren't trying to…" Une paused as if searching for the right words before speaking again in a low voice, "Why are you searching for her?"

Trowa frowned, the question although not unreasonable, caught him off guard.

"She and Quatre had become friends. Out of the blue, his letters were returned without a forwarding address. After trying without success to contact her, and since he has other duties to attend, he asked me to locate her whereabouts."

He almost cringed at how much like a mission report that sounded, but Une looked slightly relieved. Trowa could only assume that was a good sign.

"The poor girl..." Une whispered as she stood and walked slowly to look out the floor to ceiling window that lined the opposite side of the room.

Trowa almost didn't hear her, and after a long silence he also stood and followed Une's path to the window.

Une looked back at Trowa, then returned her gaze the window a few moments before finally meeting Trowa's eyes. Her eyes searched his for a moment before she began to speak in a low voice.

"I suppose you really couldn't..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "What is it you want to know?"

Trowa found the question a bit redundant, but his curiosity was peeked and he responded in a calm voice. "Anything and everything that could help me find her; where she came from… Does she have any living relatives... " he trailed off as Une held up her hand to silence him.

"I'm going to tell you a sad story. And it's not even the whole of it, but it is all I know." She took a deep breath. "Maybe we should both sit back down." She suggested.

Trowa followed her, keeping silent, as she retained her seat.

"As I'm sure you already know, Mister Treize's parents were both killed when he was almost 9 years old. A tragic event, made more so by the lack of motive, political or otherwise. They were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. Treize's younger sister, who was just over 18 months old, was either kidnapped or killed during their murders. Either way, she has not been seen since that day.

"I think it was this incident that allowed Mister Treize to become so wise in such a short time. Often, even before he was legally allowed to, he had to handle family business. He was not without his advisors of course, but still much of the decision making was handled directly by Treize. He told me once, of a time when he was thirteen. He was forced to stay in a lower class hotel, because the hotel he had reservations with had overbooked. Suffice it to say they didn't find the teenage son of a dead political figure very high on their priority list.

"During his visit, a young girl knocked on his door. She was around six years old. Mister Treize said that she that her clothes were very dirty and she was quite thin with long blonde hair. She reminded him so much of his mother that he tried to strike up a conversation with her. Of course, once he found out she was adopted with no knowledge of her real parents…" Une trailed off and sat in silence for a moment.

"So, despite the unlikehood, Treize thought she could be his sister?" Trowa asked. Not wanting to break Une's contemplative mood, but needing to understand where this was heading.

Une blinked, as if startled, and gave him a soft smile. "I know. It sounds like the wishful thinking of a lonely boy. And perhaps was just the coincidence of her age... but Mister Treize told me once... that it was her eyes he couldn't dismiss. They were a mirror image of his mothers." Une smiled, "He was right, you know. I'm not sure if you've ever seen a picture…" she trailed off, raising her eyebrow and obviously expecting an answer.

Trowa shook his head and was not surprised when Lady Une stood and walked over to the bookcase behind her desk. Taking out a binder, she returned to her seat and began flipping quickly through the laminated pages. Finding what she was looking for, she handed the open book to Trowa.

Trowa looked down at the cozy picture. Taken outside, obviously on Earth, the background revealed a pond or small lake. A strikingly similar version of Treize with blonde hair and a darker complexion had his arm around a brilliantly red-headed woman. Her ice blue eyes were warmer, but indeed reminiscent of Dorothy's. In her arms she held an infant and hovering protectively near the babe stood a young boy; tall for his age of 7 or 8 and easily recognizable as Treize himself.

Understanding that Une was waiting for him to continue Trowa looked up from the picture, "There is a strong resemblance." He offered as he handed the book back to Une.

Une nodded, closing the book and setting it on the table.

"As you can imagine, Treize was very kind to the girl. Understand, he was chivalrous to most people, but he was especially considerate when it came to her." Her eyes had glazed ever-so-slightly, and Trowa wondered if there was a bit of jealousy towards Treize's affections for Dorothy. Trowa knew that Une idolized Treize… how would she feel about another woman getting more attention? Before he could explore that avenue of thought any further Une seemed to find herself and continued.

"Getting back to the hotel… When Mister Treize asked her to stay a moment and talk with him... she..." Lady Une paused. "This is not to leave this room, understand." She said firmly; waiting for his nod to continue.

"The girl asked him if he was in need of any 'special treatment.' Mister Treize was never one to dwell on the unpleasant details, but basically the owners of the hotel were selling her out as a whore. She performed sexual favors for the guests. Six year old... she was only six at the most." she whispered.

Lady Une closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, steadying herself and Trowa wondered if he had been wrong in jumping to the assumption of jealousy. Perhaps she was simply overly-sympathetic to the situation.

"As you can imagine, Mister Treize was horrified. Not knowing what else to do, he snuck her out of the hotel and harbored her in his mansion on earth. I don't know how long she stayed, however eventually one of his servants went to the police to report the mysterious girl. I'm sure it was with the best intentions in mind, but still that was when Mister Treize realized that he didn't have the recourses to keep her hidden forever. He turned for help from the only adult member of high society he knew well enough to call for a favor."

"Duke Dermail." Trowa surmised.

Lady Une nodded. "Yes. But that isn't the half of the tragedy. Dermail took her in and, Treize believed, even cared for her. But she was sent to a boarding school in Maine. While nothing was ever proven, there was a professor who..." Une was obviously struggling with the more sordid details, "There were rumors that he liked little girls, and Mister Treize believed that Dorothy may have been... Not that she ever said anything. That girl is stubborn, if nothing else." Une allowed herself a small smile before continuing. "Fortunately, Mister Treize was able to get her transferred to another school.

"Which only leaves the last sad piece to the puzzle. There were rumors that Dermail was using Dorothy as lee-way in tight elections within the Romafeller foundation. Mister Treize could never confirm, of course, and Dorothy always denied it, but Mister Treize was very suspicious regarding the sudden turnover of several bills that Dermail supported." Lady Une sighed.

"After Dermail's death, she seemed a little lost. I believe that is what pushed her to the edge and made her take the risk of joining with the White Fang. No doubt she relied on her, Treize, and Millardio's old friendship to persuade him of her admittance on the Libre. She remained hidden while the dust settled so-to-speak. She was presumed dead for several weeks after the incident until she began utilizing her adopted grandfather's assets. I can only assume that Treize's death hit her hard as well and she needed time to cope."

Trowa decided to not bring up the fact that she almost killed the gundam pilot that she later grew close to and probably needed more time to cope with herself after the talk they had before they departed.

"Up until her disappearance, she appeared to be fine. She removed herself from Romefeller's political agenda, and began supporting, in secrect, Relena Peacecraft-Dorlian's campaign. I understand that the foundation was none too happy about it, but I don't suspect they had anything to do with her disappearance. Symbolically, she is worth far too much to them. And that, I believe, is everything I know."

Trowa nodded. "One question."

Lady Une raised her eyebrows, waiting.

"If Dorothy reminded Treize so much of his little sister, why did he never request a DNA test be preformed?"

Lady Une paused a moment before answering. "First, you must remember that when Mister Treize found Dorothy, he was very young and trusting. Later, when he asked Dermail to perform the test, Dermail said that he had and Dorothy was simply a no-account war orphan. There are so many of them, as I'm sure you're aware. It was a convenient explanation that I don't think Mister Treize believed. You see, by that time Dorothy was an asset to Dermail. Even if the... rumors weren't true, she was known as a keen political player, and a great information gatherer for the foundation.

"Treize was too much of a gentleman to bring his suspicions directly to Dorothy… I think he was afraid she would misinterpret his interest in her linage. So, as far as I know, she has no idea Treize even had a sister. Let alone that she may be, in his eyes, the sister he could never know.

Also if it were to be found that Dorothy was, in fact, related to Mister Treize,... I believe that Dermail was be afraid that she could tip the worlds power back from Romafeller to Oz. It was no secret that she preferred the modern tactics of Oz to the old-fashioned ways of Romefeller."

Trowa frowned. "Do you really think she could have done all that?" he asked. "The foundations have been established for countless centuries. What could one girl possibly do?"

"One might have said that about Relena Dorlian before her father was assassinated." Une swallowed thickly pushing away the memories of that day, "And yet there is no doubt that she played a very important role in obtaining the peace we have today; one girl from a very old and respected linage."

Une smiled coldly. "You must realize, Mr. Barton, that heritage is taken very seriously with the world powers. Dorothy was the embodiment of immortality for Dermail and his line, as the most powerful of Romafeller's representatives. If, in fact, she were related to Mister Treize, her accomplishments would be attributed to Oz's superiority."

"Yet, neither organization is concerned that she literally dropped off the face of the colony?"

Une frowned, avoiding Trowa's eyes for the first time. "I wouldn't say that." She looked down at her hands in her lap before speaking. "As my past position in Oz and my current position as head of Preventor's organization I have been made aware of several attempts to access both databases regarding Miss Catalonia. The first attempts were made to Oz's records shortly after Dermail's death, and the more recent attempts began a few months ago."

Trowa shook his head. "I'll never understand the thinking of those kind of people. How can they place so much value on something as uncontrollable as linage?"

Une smiled, "That is something I, myself, struggled with for a long time. I can't give you an answer you would understand. It is simply how they have always been. Some rumors say that the organizations can be traced all the way back to the Hitler's followers, who were defeated Pre-Colony in the then-called 2nd World War. Understanding the racism of the time, may partially help you to understand their stress on linage."

Trowa frowned, letting this new data sink in, before he returned to his primary objective.

"I'm sure you realize that the chances of Dorothy being Treize's sister are..."

"Slim to none?" supplied Une. "Yes I do. But Mister Treize was so certain..." she sighed. "I suppose we'll never really know, will we? I can't help you find her, I know even less about her than you probably do now."

Trowa nodded, standing. "You've been most helpful and you have my thanks." He paused before adding, "If you ever need…"

"Will you let me know when you find her?" asked Une before Trowa could finish.

"Don't you mean IF I find her?"

Une shook her head. "If I know you, Zero-Three," she used his code name as if to remind him of his accomplishments as a Gundam Pilot, "you'll find her. Just remember, she may seem tough, but inside I think, sometimes, she's still just a scared little girl."

Trowa held back his scoff out of respect for the information Une had given him and her obvious affection for the girl. To him, Dorothy seemed anything but, especially considering what she had been through in her short life.

"I'll keep you informed." He agreed.

Une put a hand on his shoulder, as he turned to leave.

"If I may ask one last question?" Trowa glanced back as her hand dropped to her side, "Knowing the improbability of Dorothy being Treize's sister, why do you keep asking about it?"

Trowa spoke without turning around, "Because I think I know where the DNA test results are." He told her simply as he left quickly with the intent of getting in contact with a certain Gundam pilot on L2.

* * *

Dorothy woke up feeling refreshed. For once, she hadn't had her usual bout of nightmares. She stretched slowly and purposefully, like a contented cat, and sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the clock. 

'Could I really have slept the entire day away?' She wondered. According to the clock on her nightstand, it was 12:07am. Honestly, it shouldn't be that surprising considering that she had been up almost 36 hours the day before with only 4 hours of sleep to back her up. Still, this was a record amount of sleep for her.

Dorothy trudged stiffly downstairs, slowly realizing that everything was dead quiet. That mean that Amanda wasn't home yet.

'Must be a late night.' she surmised as she yawned lazily and went about making herself something to eat.

After she finished eating, she began to wash the dishes that were stacked in the sink. She felt so refreshed. It had been a while since she'd gotten more than 5 hours of sleep. Dorothy found herself in such a good mood that she quickly found herself humming. The humming eventually turned into singing. It was a song that Dorothy may have heard somewhere, but couldn't remember where. When she forgot the words, she made something up… when she lost the melody; she hummed a little and started up again. She found herself so caught up that when she paused for a breath she almost dropped the plate she was holding when she heard applause.

She whirled around to see Amanda, leaning against the doorframe, still in her jacket and boots. She had obviously just come in, as her cheeks were still flushed from the cold February air, but she had apparently heard enough to embarrass Dorothy.

Dorothy blushed and turned quickly to finish scrubbing the dishes. Amanda, however, was not deterred, and continued clapping. She finally stopped to remove her coat and set down her purse. Sitting at the table, she began deliberately digging around in her purse. "Why didn't you tell me you could sing like that?" she asked, sounding very miffed.

"Like what?" asked Dorothy, trying to brush off the incident.

"Like that! Girl, that was awesome!" she exclaimed. "I wish, gosh I can't tell you how much that I wish I could sing like that." Amanda began staring off into space her green eyes sparkling.

Dorothy blushed deeper. "Well, actually. I... I've never really tried to sing before. I never had… any reason to sing." She paused wondering about the truth in that statement. It's hard to think about singing when you're worrying which world leader will blow up which colony or planet. She sighed sadly, caught up momentarily in memories. So much so, in fact, that she missed what Amanda had said.

"I'm sorry." she shook her head as if clearing it. "What did you say?"

Amanda smiled that it was all right and spoke again. "I asked if you'd ever taken lessons or anything." When Dorothy shook her head she continued. "Holy Cow! I took voice lessons for..." she scratched her head. "Geez, almost 6 years, and I could never sing like that. It was like... like violin music. All connected and ahhh… So beautiful."

Dorothy felt the heat emanating from her face. And struggled to find something to say that would take the weird feeling she got in her stomach at the compliment.

"I had a friend... an acquaintance really, who used to play the violin. It was just about the only music I listened to. The only music I had time to listen to."

Amanda jumped up, as she was prone to do, never being able to sit still for very long and began toasting herself a bagel. "So... was he cute?" She asked bumping Dorothy lightly in the hip.

Dorothy spun to her side almost dropping yet another plate. "Excuse me?" she asked more coldly than she meant.

Amanda stared at her oddly before continuing. "Your 'friend,' the one who played violin; was he cute?"

Dorothy remained quiet for a moment. "How did you know it was a guy?"

Amanda grinned. "Well you'd never call a girl 'an acquaintance.' Plus, you had this... look in you eyes as you said it. You obviously had a crush on him. I just wanted to know if he was cute."

Dorothy turned moodily back to scrubbing the dishes. How absurd. Did she have a crush on Quatre? Of course not. Sure he was kind, and damn good looking, and... oh hell. Who was she kidding? Dorothy turned to look at the pixyish girl who was buttering her bagel and pretending not to care that Dorothy was, as usual, not telling her anything about her past.

In fact. Dorothy set the plate back into the sudsy water. Honestly, she hadn't told Amanda anything at all. Zip noda zilch.

The girl had opened up her home and gave Dorothy a job. Hell, she even helped Dorothy pick out affordable clothes. She had been like the sister Dorothy had never had, and Dorothy hadn't found it in her heat to tell her a thing about her past. Not one single thing. And STILL the girl didn't give up. She obviously accepted her, even her avoidance of her past.

'What are you afraid of?' she asked herself.

Rejection? No, she had dealt with that before.

Pity? Well, she didn't want pity, but she wasn't afraid of it, that was for sure.

Suddenly an unbidden voice spoke up from the depth's of Dorothy's subconscious. 'You're afraid that if you tell her everything about who you are, you'll realize who you are. And you won't like it. Even after all this time, you're still not ready to face yourself.'

Dorothy laughed out loud, earning only a mildly perplexed look from Amanda who had almost finished her bagel in the span of Dorothy's contemplations. 'I'll show you.' she thought back to the voice. Drying her hands, she started the kettle for some tea. She could really use some.

After the tea was ready she handed Amanda a cup and spoke one simple word.

"Yes."

Amand's face lit up. Understanding that it was the answer to her question without having to ask. She put both hands around the hot cup Dorothy had given her and folded her legs underneath her, getting ready for a story.

Dorothy smiled as she looked down into her cup. "He had this platinum blonde hair that was always in his face; the epitome of boyish charm, and an amazingly patient demeanor."

"With you I can understand why that was necessary." Amanda blurted out, before her eyes widened and it was obvious she was unsure if she'd overstepped her boundaries by making the statement. Dorothy couldn't help but grin at Amanda's ability to see down to the heart of the matter.

"Yes, I'm sure I was one of his biggest trials. But, of all his amazing features, it was his eyes that would capture you. They were so green… sparkling emeralds; and always so understanding. Truly, he was the kindest person I've ever known. There was not a mean bone in his oh-so-fine body. And he was an excellent musician."

Amanda interrupted to inquire the obvious. "So, why exactly didn't you two hit if off?"

Dorothy frowned. "I don't think he 'swung' that way."

Amanda's pink lips formed an 'O'.

"Still, he was one of the few friends I had. You see... I was ... am a very... manipulative person."

"You're very outgoing, that's not the same as being manipulative." Amanda objected.

Dorothy shook her head. "This may be difficult for you to hear, but I'd like to tell you a little about the person you see before you."

Amanda nodded eagerly and listened intently as Dorothy told her about her past. She began with her last few years of schooling before the war. She touched on her interactions with Relena and the Gundam pilots.

Amanda listened as Dorothy told her about the influence she had over the Romafeller foundation and, by default, Oz and the colonies. And she finished with a shortened version of the end of the war and the months afterward.

"So you see... I didn't just influence the war. I practically started the whole damn thing, just to see, as I so desired, the last, most glorious battle of mankind..."

Teas shone in Amanda's eyes. "That's just… oh!" she jumped up and hugged Dorothy fiercely. "You poor thing. I would never be able to deal with all that." She exclaimed. "But certainly you can't hold yourself responsible for the actions of so many other people that lead up to the war. You may be misguided, but you're not evil!"

Dorothy hugged Amanda back briefly and then stood, uncomfortable with the contact. Dorothy chuckled and attempted to lighten the mood.

"If you think that's bad, remind me to tell you about my childhood sometime." she cracked.

When Amanda didn't laugh like Dorothy hoped, she looked at the clock. "Oh, how time flies when you're having fun! You know we have to be at work in less than three hours." She said flatly.

Amanda groaned. "Oh no, better try to get a nap." She turned to head up to bed when she stopped suddenly. She looked at Dorothy. "I can't believe I almost forgot." she slapped her forehead. "I was digging around in my purse for this." she handed Dorothy a card.

"My uncle owns a tavern with a really nice stage, and he's looking for a singer. Pays much better than the restaurant does, even with all the tips you manage to scrounge, and you get to wear all these really cool dresses! Like real old stuff, with sequences and silk... That's why I took singing lessons for so long. Unfortunately, it simply wasn't meant to be." She tried and failed to mimic an old Southern accent and placed a hand over her forehead dramatically. Then she grinned and winked at Dorothy. "I'd bet a weeks salary that you'd be perfect!"

With that, Amanda pranced upstairs, waving goodnight, or rather morning to Dorothy.

Dorothy watched her odd roommate depart and glanced at the card. "Travis's Tavern." she sighed, laying her head on her hand and leaning on the table. "I wonder..."

* * *

KatsyKat: This chapter was edited in May of 2006! Hurrah - 5 down... a few to go! So? Is that worth a little feedback, yet? 

Une: Only if they object with how OOC I was.

Kat: Ok, tell me how you were OOC and I'll fix it.

Une: Like you fixed Trowa from the last chapter?

Kat: (sweatdrop) Ok, ok. You got me, so I'll TRY to fix it.

Une: I'm not THAT obsessed with Mister Treize.

Kat: scoffs Riiiiiiight.

Une: No, really. You way over-exaggerated it.

Kat: Ok then... I'll change it if you can say Treize's name without the Mister.

Une: (mouth hangs agape)

Kat: See? I win Another OOC battle won for Kat, YEAH (runs around pumping her arms uplike she's wona awrestling match) SO, now you can feel free to review!


	6. Setbacks

**Alone  
**Chapter 6 **"Setbacks"**

**

* * *

**

Dorothy shifted her bag looking upshe read the sign aloud.

"Travis's Tavern."

This was defiantly the place. She sighed. 'Why am I doing this?' she asked herself. 'I can't sing in front of people. I never even learned how to sing!' She shook her head.

'Listen to yourself, "learn to sing" – how ridiculous! Like anyone actually learns singing. It's something either you can do or you can't.'

'Yea, but am I seriously thinking that I CAN?'

'You need a job. Better this than bussing tables at another restaurant.'

Silencing her rampant and ever arguing thoughts, Dorothy squared her shoulders and pushed open the dark oak door.

The lighting was dimmer inside than Dorothy expected. She waited a moment, under the guise of checking her watch, to let her eyes adjust. After blinking a few times, Dorothy found the atmosphere charming.

Dark aged wood was prevalent in the décor. From the floor to the tables, spanning the cathedral-type ceilings as rafters and even framing both the bar on one side and the small stage on the opposite side of the bar.

Dorothy approached the twenty-some old year old man at the bar and inquired if the owner was available. The tall man with greasy black hair just past his chin, paused a moment to take in her appearance. A smile started quirking the corners of his mouth. Before it bloomed completely, he simply bowed his head briefly in what might have been a nod or a small bow, and ducked through a doorway behind the bar.

Before Dorothy could wonder at the mans skittish behavior, Travis, a very large guy with an enormous beer gut, came out from the same doorway. The balding, yet cheerful man introduced himself as the tavern's namesake.

"You must be Amanda's friend, it's a pleasure to meet you!" He said in a large booming voice, as he struck out his meaty hand for a shake. "She told me you'd be stopping by."

Dorothy offered her hand, allowing him to pump it up and down with enthusiasm as she struggled to hide her surprise.

She hadn't told Amanda that she'd intended to try for the job. Hell, she wasn't even sure she was headed this way until she took the card out of her pocket in front of the building. She shook her head smiling. How was it that a girl who barely knew Dorothy, already knew her better than she knew herself.

Startling herself out of her contemplations, she found her voice. "Hello, my name is Dorothy." She said, an easy but practiced smile courting her lips.

Travis beamed back at her.

"Alright then, enough of the uppity formalities!" He grinned to let her know he was joking. "The band meets twice a week in the afternoon." He continued, ignoring the perplexed look on Dorothy's face. "There's the lead guitarist Derek, the drummer, Don, and Mike back there…" Travis thumbed toward the doorway to indicate the young bartender, "who plays anything from keyboard, to piano, or singin' and basically whatever needs to be done." Travis chuckled. "Truth be told, it's HIS band, I just give 'em a play to play."

"You will be performing Thursday through Monday nights with Tuesdays and Wednesdays off." He grinned, two of his front teeth glaringly missing from his large smile. "Now we should get your measurements as soon as we can, so my wife can adjust your wardrobe."

His eyes ran up and then down her body quickly, but Dorothy found that there was nothing vulgar or suggestive in the way he was summing her up. With the whirlwind her thoughts were trying to settle down, it was a small comfort.

"Carol might have to take a few things in a bit... how 'bout tomorrow at 6? Could you meet her here? I don't think she has anything planned, but I'll let you know if there's a problem."

Dorothy nodded; slowly trying to unhinge her jaw which had become mysteriously frozen in an unladylike "open" position.

"Oh!" Travis continued, "I'll have Mike get you your sheet music so you can look it over." He motioned to the bartender, who had appeared sometime in the middle of Travis's speech, who then went into the back again.

Travis noticed Dorothy's mouth opening and closing without any sound and his face softened. "Is everything alright?"

Dorothy finally found her voice. "I'm sorry. I'm a little taken aback." she answered truthfully, struggling for a moment to find the appropriate words. "Don't you need me to try-out or something, first?"

Travis smiled and shook his head. "Well, actually no." He leaned forward and looked to and fro as if sizing up the empty bar for possible eavesdroppers. "My darling niece may not be able to sing a note in tune to save her life, but she knows a good voice when she hears it. I trust her opinion of you."

He paused a moment looking into Dorothy's stormy eyes, "But if you're not sure you want the position, we can try a trail week. Mike's offered to help ya learn some of the music. And actually..." he pulled her aside and whispered as if it really was a secret. "He's really excited to meet you. He has some pieces he's been writing and he can't wait to get a female voice to sing 'em."

Travis winked. "Now practices are on your own time, and the band usually decides on them as a group. But they are meeting tomorrow, and they've offered to meet on both Tuesday and Wednesday so that you'll be ready your big debut on Thursday. Sound alright?"

Dorothy nodded, more than a little dumbfounded, as the same bartender came out from the back. "Hi!" He said softly, if not shyly. "Name's Mike." He struck out a timid hand, but his grey-blue eyes met hers and his handshake was strong. Dorothy caulked up his behavior to nervousness and smiled to put him at ease.

'Put HIM at ease?' Her inner voice screamed at her. Fortunately, before she could allow herself to be dragged into another internal argument, Mike interrupted her.

"Let's go over to the keyboard, so I can get an idea of your range." He picked up a stack of papers he had just set down on the bar. "Wanna warm up or anything?"

Dorothy shook her head and graciously accepted a glass of water from Travis as she and Mike went to the stage to begin.

* * *

Despite the fact that Dorothy found herself working day and night to prepare for her "singing debut" (as it was playfully dubbed), or perhaps simply because she was so preoccupied by it, she found that the next few days lost themselves in one pleasant blur. 

Dorothy found the members of the band delightful to be around. She realized that she had never before been as comfortable around any other people as she was with these three boys. Perhaps, she admitted to herself, because this was the first time in her life she found herself completely without a hidden agenda.

Each member of the Band "The Misfits" as they liked to be called, had an original and engaging personality coupled with sharp wit and keen intellect. The immaturity that Dorothy usually found glaring from people her age was gone. In its place was… a vitality, a joy de vive that Dorothy found infectious. Despite herself, and her financial worries, Dorothy found herself much more relaxed than she could ever remember feeling.

Of the three band members, Don was defiantly the loudest. With a dark curly mop of hair he proudly sported dreads well past his shoulders. The look suited him, and somehow complimented his light complexion and piercing hazel eyes. He was fairly well-built, muscles showing even under the casual baggy T-Shirts and jeans he sported. He would be rather charming, if he weren't constantly showing off his "guns" (as he dubbed them) and challenging the others to arm wrestling matches.

Don was always first to shout hello and was likely to keep talking to you until you were long out of earshot. He tended to be a little hyper, which worked out well – according to Mike – who said that a band without a hyper drummer was like a heart without a beat; it's not an option if you want to stay alive.

Dorothy was not sure how Don and Derek managed to live together, they were so different. However, she had no reason to doubt the 19 and 20 year old when they told her they were roommates in a small apartment a few blocks away.

Derek, as if picked as Don's opposite, was the quiet one. Perhaps his behavior stemmed from his looks, which may have been a sore point in school as they were quite feminine when taken out of context. The fact that he was on the thin side, noticeably shorter than the other two, and obviously conscious about both those facts didn't help him appear any more confident. However Dorothy concluded that despite his obvious reservations regarding his appearance, his features suited him. He had a very handsome olive complexion, a thin nose, high cheekbones and warm brown eyes. His jet black hair – Dorothy wondered if it could be real of if it came from a bottle – was always spiked some way or another, and often he colored it completely or in parts with some neon color.

Derek leaned more to the "Goth" side of fashion, obviously preferring black and usually showing off intriguing jewelry from his many piercings. As if, by dressing outrageously, he could overcome his shy nature. Regardless of his appearance, behind a guitar he was nothing short of masterful. He put emotion into strings of music that made Dorothy's heart sing. Although being constantly hackled by the other two when he proudly displayed his battle wounds Derek also enjoyed skateboarding and was known in the middle of practices to jump up and grab his skateboard to sail off the stage and out the door, unless Travis was around to reprimand him.

Which left Mike. Mike was obviously the glue that held the band together. Slightly more restrained than Don, but not as somber as Derek. He was goofy, yet serious. He had confidence with an air of shyness. Rather than enigmatic, the symptoms gave him a well-rounded feel. His appearance was less consistent than the other two. Although his piercing grey-blue eyes remained unchanged and reminded Dorothy more than once of Millardio's steely gaze. However, instead of ice – his eyes were more similar to a stormy sea as if some much was going on just underneath the surface.

Sometimes Mike looked almost preppy; strolling in with khaki's, with a pullover, topped off with penny loafers. Other times, he was the more unkempt of the two – looking like his literally rolled out of bed, left his T-Shirt and threw on a pair of week-worn and torn jeans and a pair of sneakers that had probably outlived several sets of shoelaces. His chin length straight sandy-blonde hair was usually tousled, but glimmered with a golden sheen when brushed. When Dorothy inquired as to his "split personality" regarding his wardrobe and Mike admitted, under the playful banter of Don and Derek, that he still lived with his parents.

Rather than look down on Mike for that fact, the news startled Dorothy. She was quick to forget that her scarce (and estimated) 17 years of age was not considered by society a reasonable age to be living by oneself. Mike was only 18 yet, lived in relative comfort, shielded from the harsh "real world" by the two individuals responsible for bringing him into it. Thoughts of the parents she never got to know were pushed from her mind as quickly as they came. She had too many real sorrows she did not dwell over, to allow herself to be affected by something that happened so long ago that she could have no real memories.

After working with the band for several days, Dorothy thought she figured out why these three young men were so engaging. The low opinion she previously carried of people her own age was based on only part of the population. She, having been adopted by a rich and powerful man, had only socialized with rich – or at least well-to-do – people her age. All of whom, it would seem, had a lack of desire to achieve.

Most people in the schools she attended were guaranteed their positions in life despite their personal accomplishments either directly through their parents, or through their lineage itself. That expected lifestyle breeds the kind of attitude that permeates one's character and makes them reek of self-assuredness. As well as giving the individual little to no motivation to succeed because of a glaring lack of reward.

The rawness that Dorothy liked in the band members was a grounded acceptance of reality. They weren't handed their living – they had to make it on their own. And surely, their parents would help them, but they could not do it for them. These young men, were each trying to make their mark on the world through their music.

It was a wonderfully artistic way of looking at things. And Dorothy had to admit, although she didn't consider herself artistic, and despite the fact that three days doesn't seem enough time to really get to appreciate something… she found it to be a very infectious and tempting dream.

Each of the band members had taken time out of their lives to help 'tutor' Dorothy on stage etiquette. Mike was especially helpful, since she'd never learned to read music. And all too soon it was Thursday night.

* * *

Moments before her first stage performance, Dorothy sat by herself backstage. Without realizing, she had begun glancing nervously from the clock to her fidgeting black-gloved hands. 

Without warning, another pair of hands engulfed hers, causing her to jump. She looked up to see Amanda smiling at her.

"Don't worry. You'll be great. Don's been telling me how great you've been at practice." She smiled.

Dorothy shook her head. "Don would say that about anyone." She worried, "I feel so unprepared." She wrenched her hands free of Amanda's and they began cutting the air around her as Dorothy's nerviouness got the best of her and she started waving them around. "You can't understand how bad it is. I always forget to project, and I turn my body too much. I..."

"Need to calm down." Amanda interrupted her, seizing her hands once again and holding them until they were still. "You'll be fine." She said firmly as she playfully bounced one of the long and beautifully curled tendrils that framed Dorothy's face. She smiled. "I told you that ringlets in your hair would look awesome." She remarked in an effort to call Dorothy's attention to something other than her upcoming performance.

Dorothy blushed, still unaccustomed to genuine compliments. "Maybe, but it took both of us a total of almost four hours."

Amanda smiled. "Yeah, but tonight is your opening night. It was a special occasion." Amanda continued. "And this dress..." she walked around Dorothy admiring the long, simple, strapless black dress that hugged Dorothy's body flatteringly.

Dorothy blushed again. "Well the slits are a little high." She admitted, smoothing the unruffled front of her dress.

Amanda looked down at Dorothy's thighs. The slits looked like they just might stay closed if Dorothy resolved herself to never moving again. Even the slightest shifting of her hips, made one or the other dip open in a tasteful flash of ebony skin.

"Maybe..." Amanda remarked nonchalantly. "But it looks damn good on you. Ohhh.." she squealed. "What a nifty rhinestone necklace and earrings." She held her hand up to Dorothy's ear admiring the way the light sparked from the jewels. "Where does Uncle Travis get this stuff?"

Dorothy smiled. "It was actually his wife's."

"For real?" Asked Amanda. "Hmmm.. Something tells me that I need to get to know my Aunt Caroline better..." she grinned impishly.

Dorothy laughed feeling a little more relaxed until suddenly Amanda hugged her. "You've got 3 minutes." She whispered. "Break a leg. I'll be watching." She winked and then hugged Dorothy quickly before disappearing out of the bar exit way to find a seat.

Dorothy took a deep breath and sat down hard. The nervousness she'd temporally forgotten about came rushing back.

Only three minutes... A feeling of panic settled deep into her stomach.

* * *

Don winked his good luck as Dorothy set out on shaky legs to her spot on stage. She was blinded by the stage lights after waiting anxiously in the almost total darkness of backstage. She found herself unable to focus on the audience, which suited her just fine. She wasn't sure her stomach could take seeing a crowd. 

Dorothy listened for the cue of her first song, and tired to ignore the shuffling that told her that there was a fairly large audience.

What was her cue?... Her panic arose full flare.

The rushing sound in her ears grew louder and louder and her knees, as if in response, grew weaker and weaker.

Could the people in the first row see her shaking?

She heard more scuffling. Did they see that she needed help standing up?

Finally, after longer than she thought the intro to the song was, she heard the now-familiar notes glisten the air. She took a deep breath and then softly, and unsure at first, but more steady with each word began to sing...

* * *

Dorothy was exhilarated. The night was over and she had done her part in making it a good preformance. Not only had she been told by everyone, how good she sounded; she knew she had sounded amazing because at times she found it hard to believe it was her that was singing. 

How was it for all these years she never knew what her own voice sounded like?

Now that it was all over, Dorothy could scarcely believe it had happened at all. That night, for the first time since Treize had died, her sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted.

* * *

Duo flipped his trademark braid over his shoulder and gave a small shrug. "I'd really like to help you out, man. But I can't get away right now... we've just gotten a shipment from the Preventors. Really hard-core stuff. A whole plant that we missed, and there's a ton of mobile suits to dismantle. It also looks like they had a working prototype for an entirely new mobile suit desin. I don't mind telling ya, I'm glad I didn't have to face THESE ones in the war." He frowned. "It's not that I wouldn't trust Hilde and the guys to it, but... There's just so much to do. Really we're a small shop." 

Trowa nodded. "I understand. Don't worry about it." He reached to turn off the monitor when Duo called out.

"Wait!" He chuckled. "I said I couldn't help you right now, as in this minute. Could you give me say... a week?" He asked. "'Cause I could totally get away then." He cocked a grin before his face got suprizingly somber. "Look, Trowa, I know where this place is... right next to the space port, it'll be heavily guarded and I wouldn't want to leave you to it alone. It's a two man job, at least."

Trowa smiled, warmed by the camaraderie seemingly apparent in each of the Gundam pilots. "Yes, Duo. It'll keep for a few days. I'll call you when I have mission parameters."

Duo nodded and then gave a mock salute. "Yessir!" He called cheerfully, "See ya!" he gave one last flash of this trademark grin Trowa's screen with black.

Trowa shook his head. Now what to do? He hated to tell Quatre that it'd be a few more days... but he didn't have any other leads, and he really needed Duo's help to break into the storage facility. Duo's estimation was right, from what Trowa could tell it was heavily guarded.

Trowa looked down at the security specs in front of him. Defiantly a two-man job, and he had already enlisted the help of Heero and Wufei in this. Quatre, unfortunately, was not a good choice with his emotional attachment. He shook his head further dismissing the idea of calling Quatre to request his help. Nothing left to do but wait for Duo.

Just then his monitor beeped. It was Catherine. "Hey Trowa!" she called cheerfully. "Did you forget about me already?"

Trowa shook his head. "No, of course not. Just been busy."

She frowned. "Well are you too busy to have a night on the town with your sister?"

Trowa frowned. "What about the show tonight. Can they spare you? My act is already out with the Lioness in labor. How is she doing by the way?"

Catherine grinned, she's doing splendidly, still some time yet – the vet says. Anyway, two of the clowns were in a little accident with the clown car, and the ringmasters got some kind of virus. So the show has been canceled for tonight. What do ya say? We haven't been out in forever, PLEASE?"

Trowa took one look into her pleading eyes, and – as usual – couldn't find the will to say no. He looked at his watch. It was 4:30 here, on earth... so that meant it was 12:30 on L3. Plenty of time to get there… He nodded. "I'll be there at 7. Meet me at the spaceport."

"The spaceport?" Asked Catherine. "Where are you?"

"Earth." He replied. "I had some business here."

Catherine nodded. "Ok, 7 it is." She grinned as she terminated communication. "Later." She chirped.

Trowa sighed. 'Now to catch a shuttle.'

* * *

KatsyKat: Well, there ya go! This chapter was updated in June of 2006! Just click the little arrow thingy to take you to the next chapter! 

Duo: Wait wait WAIT!

Kat: What?

Duo: All work and no play make Duo a sad, SAD Gundam pilot.

Kat: Huh?

Duo: I'm talking some serious O O C, here. Not the little discrepancies of the previous chapters.

Kat: Ok... (pulls out a notebook) What is YOUR problem?

Duo: There's no way I'd make Trowa wait. I'd be in my all black Shinigami outfit as fast as he could say my name.

Kat: (Shaking her head) Sorry, but that's the way things are gonna be. I have to have something happen before you can gung-ho into the super-secret, ultra guarded, storage facility.

Duo: Like what? What could be more important than the GOD of DEATH parading into a heavily-guarded storage facility to uncover the truths and lies of the past?

Kat: (smiles) You'll see. Just read the next chapter.

Duo: Is it there yet?

Kat: (nods) It should be, I posted them at the same time.

Duo: Alright! runs off

Kat: Yells after him Hey, Don't FORGET TO REVIEW FIRST! sighs Well, at least YOU still have a chance to review. (bats big beautiful blue eyes)


	7. Chance Meeting

**Alone**

Chapter 7 **"Chance Meeting"

* * *

**

Trowa resisted the urge to scout the streets ahead as he and Catherine walked through the streets of the L3 colony. He knew Catherine would tease him for being paranoid. However, the normally well-maintained colony streets were more run-down and the buildings, many of which looked empty and deserted, seemed to hold many shadows that an attacker could be well-hidden within.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Trowa finally asked Catherine, his booming voice shattering the silence that hung just under the steady tempo of their footsteps on concrete.

Catherine, who was tugging on his arm trying to hurry him along, nodded.

"I'm sure it's around here somewhere. I've been here a few times before; I've just got to remember..." She paused in the middle of an intersection and glanced left and right before continuing forward. "One of my friends plays in the band. He says they've got a new singer, and on top of that the food's great!" Catherine smiled, batting her long lashes innocently before continuing, "And since SOMEbodies shuttle was delayed, I am starving!"

Trowa frowned, opening his mouth to remind her that he, personally, had NO control over the stations landing schedule, but as he started to speak Catherine interrupted him.

"Ohh!" She squealed, pointing. "There it is."

Trowa looked up to read the sign. "Travis's Tavern." he said aloud. His monotone perfectly capturing his lack of interest.

Dorothy smiledbrightly, as she buckled the strap of her red high-heeled shoe. That finished, she checked the clock.

"Ten minutes." She said aloud as if to confirm the time. She sat down touched up her liberally applied stage make-up.

Finishing that task, she glanced at the clock once again. Almost 5 minutes left...

That was fine. She knew the songs by now... there wasn't really anything new for tonight. She glanced in the mirror. She looked all right.

... But what was this odd feeling that she had in the pit of her stomach? The feeling that something was going to go wrong tonight...?

She sighed, shaking her head, 'what an imagination you have tonight, Dorothy.' She chastised herself. 'Just because things are finally going right doesn't mean that the world's going to open up and swallow you.'

She smiled, her now red lips assuming a genuine smile, which had become more and more a part of her normal expression.

Except for her growing feeling of paranoia, Dorothy's life was definitely looking up.

Trowa and Catherine sat at their table, drinks in hand, waiting patiently on their food. Catherine waved to the drummer, who smiled back and with a nod sent his long dreads tumbling over his shoulders.

Trowa sat back and was actually beginning to enjoy the evening as they announced the singer.

"Our very own, Miss Dorothy Perdre."

At first, Trowa plastered on a polite smile, more for Catherine's benefit than anything else, and mimicked the audience's clapping. However as he lifted his beer to take a drink, the singer stepped onstage and he was forced to swallow hard to avoid spitting his drink all over the table. His wide eyes took in the woman standing before him.

Her hair was still long, styled half-up in a loose bun with curls and tiny tendrils framing her pale complexion. She wore a blood-red strapless mini-dress, with a sheer jacket that was open in the front and flowed to the ground behind her. She might be a little thinner than last he saw her, but for the most part, she remained the same. Even her eyebrows remained unplucked, Trowa noted.

Trowa held his breath as Dorothy smiled, and approached the microphone. He stared open-mouthed as her first words, clear as crystal, reached his ears. She sang... well, nothing like Trowa would have guessed. He was listening so intently that he almost missed the comment that Catherine made...

"Wow." She said. "He was right, She does sing like an angel."

Trowa shook his head briefly to clear it and forced his eyes from the blonde on stage. He murmured an acceptable response to his sister before turning his attention over to his food, which had just arrived.

The relaxing evening with his sister just got much more complicated. The question remained, now that he knew where she was... how should he approach her?

* * *

Dorothy began singing through the doubt that she felt in the pit of her stomach. She had been singing for a little over three weeks now, and each time it became easier and easier to forget there were other people in the room and just sing.

She could feel, with each performance, her confidence grow. However, tonight, something was different.

After her third song, she had the ominous feeling that someone was watching her... someone that shouldn't be a part of the audience.

By the end of her fourth song, mid-way through the evening, she began to doing something that she usually refrained from... scanning the audience.

There were the usual; people there for the dinner, people there for the drinks, people there for the people. She scanned over familiar and unfamiliar faces until her eyes rested on one with the shockingly familiar hair and green eyes.

'Trowa Barton.'

She was so shocked that she almost forgot she was singing. She recovered, but barely.

Mike shot her a look of concern from the keyboard. His eyes were almost glowing in the stagelights, giving the situation another aspect that seemed as if from a dream. Dorothy felt dazed and set herself on autopilot. Her mind was racing to figure out what she should do

Did she have time to run?... what good would that do now? Could she get out of here undetected pack and be gone in enough time? No matter how tempted she was to pursue that lane o thinking she felt it would be unlikely she could pull it off. This wasn't just some namless nobody – this was a Gundam pilot. Someone who earned that title with blood and sweat shed in countless battles. Who was she to think she could outwit him now?

She shook her head, listening to the intro of the next song. The words came almost unbidden as she started her next song, she also started her next line of thought.

Assuming she confronted him… what would she say to him?... For that matter… Dorothy straightened visibly on stage, why should she have to tell him anything?

She went back and forth in her thinking and was no more set on a course of action as her act drew to a close. Suddenly she knew exactly how a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car felt in those last moments before the crash.

* * *

Trowa noticed the look on Dorothy's face, and realized that he'd been spotted. He could only hope that she wouldn't try to run. It would take another miracle to find her again. Not to mention how difficult it would be to explain to Quatre how close he had come and yet still lost her.

The trouble he was having was his uncertainty in how exactly to approach her. By her stiffened posture, it was apparent that she hadn't wanted to be found. And the way she purposefully avoided looking in his general direction didn't give him the impression that she was going to come over a greet him.

Like any equation he intended to solve, Trowa thought of the little evidence he did have about Dorothy and asked himself again, what her exact reasons for leaving?

It would be to his advantage to understand that before he confronted her. But did he really want to confront her? That would put her on the defensive and it would be harder the get the truth from her.

But if he didn't at least approach her, would she still be here tomorrow?

He sighed, knowing that either way he chose this was likely to be disastrous reunion.

Amanda, who was sitting in the front row, felt Dorothy's sudden fear. Perplexed, she looked around and spotted the man with the odd hair and the green eyes. There seemed a connection. Grabbing her martini, she gracefully stood up and strolled across the room to get a closer look. Before she had even decided to go directly to the source, her heading put her on a direct route to the table in question.

Trowa noticed the short, slightly over-weight girl with short auburn hair as she stood from her seat in the front. Her simple but stylish shirt and jeans gave her a casual appearance. Her pace, neither aimless nor hurried, nonetheless put her in a direct route to he and Catherine's table. His attention was drawn away from Dorothy for a moment as the girl approached.

Amanda smiled at the couple as she stopped in front of their table. Catherine smiled back, while Trowa nodded vaguely, his eyes flickering back to Dorothy as if he expected her to disappear any minute.

"My names Amanda." She introduced herself, "Do you mind if I take a seat?"

Catherine shook her head. "Of course not. I'm Catherine, and this my brother Trowa."

Amanda smiled as she sat down. 'Brother?' she wondered even as she spoke, "Nice to meet you."

The three sat in silence for a moment, each taking the others in. Amanda noticed right away that Catherine seemed a very sincere person. She would be the kind of person to wear their heart on their sleeve. No danger there.

However, Trowa... Amanda fought a chill. He seemed so cold and uncaring, and at the same time as if he cared too much. He reminded Amanda of Dorothy in an odd way, like they were both so used to hiding what they were feeling it was second nature.

Amanda contemplated how to bring up the feelings she had gotten from Dorothy without sounding like a total nutcase when Catherine solved the problem by speaking.

"The singer's something else, isn't she?"

Amanda smiled. "Yes. She's my friend, and roommate." She looked to Trowa gauging his reaction. To her surprise, he withheld his feelings very well, however she noticed she had peaked his interest. "Do you know her?" She asked, as always, preferring the most direct route.

Catherine shook her head, as Trowa spoke. "Yes."

Catherine looked at him oddly, and Amanda smiled. "Really. I've never met any of her other friends." She paused and then spoke in a low tone, "You are one of her friends aren't you?"

Trowa looked into the young woman's intense green eyes. 'Could it be that Dorothy's made herself a real friend?' He wondered with amusement, as he began to answer her question in the affirmative. Something stopped him though… there was something about this girl that made him feel like just telling her what she wanted to hear wouldn't be enough. To his surprise he found himself doing something he refrained from doing… explaining himself.

"In truth, we're both friends of someone else, and that would make us more like acquaintances..." he paused and then meaningfully added, "however, I bear her no ill will."

Amanda nodded. The guy was being sincere at least. That was something. But then why was Dorothy so afraid of him?... she wondered as she looked back up to her friend on the stage.

Catherine was totally lost in the exchange. Being an observant person, she understood that something was going on, she just had not idea what and it frustrated her. She kept glancing from Trowa to Amanda. '...mean her no harm...'? What the hell was she missing?

Amanda smiled, pointedly ignoring Catherine's curiosity, and began clapping.

It was then Trowa noticed that Dorothy had finished her last song of the night. And he still didn't have a course of action in mind.

Amanda had come to enough of a conclusion to piece together that Trowa wass likely to either be the reason or be closely related with the reason Dorothy was in the position of cutting off herself from her past.

So this was Dorothy's past finally catching up her. Amanda made a bold decision as Dorothy gave her final bow. Dorothy was not going to be allowed to run anymore. Amanda was going to force her to face up to whatever it was she was running from.

When Dorothy began walking off the stage, Amanda stood up quickly and turned to Trowa and Catherine. "You know what, why don't I go get Dorothy and bring her over here? I'm sure she'll want to talk to you." She asked as if it were a question, but hurried off before either could respond.

Catherine looked oddly at Trowa. As she opened her mouth to berate her for leaving her in the dark, Trowa shook his head.

"Please don't ask." He said. "All I can tell you is that she's a key part in a… mission I'm working on." Well, that was partly true, he surmised.

Catherine's eyes darkened and Trowa realized this was the wrong thing to say. Speaking quickly, so as not to upset her further, he tried to explain. "It's more of a personal favor… for Quatre." He added at the last second, knowing that Catherine had liked Quatre a lot after she'd gotten over the fact that he had "dragged" (her word) Trowa back into the war.

Catherine's eyes remained skeptical, but after a moment of searching his face she nodded slowly. "Do you need me to head on back without you?" she asked, trying to hide her disappointment of having the evening interrupted.

Trowa paused. He really would not like Catherine to be out in this part of town unescorted.

His eyes must have given him away, because Catherine knowingly smiled. "Oh, com'on. I'm a big girl! Plus, you know that I always keep my knives with me." She opened her trendy jean jacket slightly to reveal the 7 small, but very effective, throwing knives tucked into a custom-made casing.

Still sensing Trowa's hesitation she continued. "If you're so worried about it, I'll just go catch up with Don, and have him take me home." She grinned, giving a little wave as she saw Don jumping up and down to get her attention from the front of the stage; motioning her to follow him backstage.

Catherine held up a finger indicating that she needed a minute and turned as Trowa spoke.

"Who's Don?" Questioned Trowa suspiciously, turning to glance at the hyper young man making a spectacle of himself to get Catherine's attention. When he and Trowa met eyes, he straightened up and gave him a mock salute and a nod, offset only by his huge grin.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "The guy in the band I told you about? He's the drummer. Don't worry, I've known him since grade school."

Trowa frowned, "I thought you traveled too much to go to school as a child."

Catherine signed. "Why are you always so distrusting of everything!" she exclaimed before she explained, "For two years when I was about 8 or 9 Mom and Dad left me at Grandma's whenever the circus would travel and although I traveled a lot after that, for some odd reason, Don and I have always kept in touch."

At this point in time, Don had jumped from the stage and sauntered over to Catherine and her… friend? He stuck out his hand to the odd-haired man, sensing there was a need for introductions. "My names Don, thanks for coming."

Trowa nodded, taking the offered hand. He was pleased with the firmness in the other mans shake. "It was a great performance." He commented sincerely.

Don seemed briefly embarrassed, a blush that would have been hidden if the guy had any color to his skin spread across his cheeks as he raised his hand behind his neck and shrugged.

"Well, thanks a lot." He managed before turning back to Catherine. "So, we're thinking of heading back to our house for some low-down dirty racing games. Mike just got the newest Speed Demon game and we're all itchin' to play. You haven't let your steering skills go to waste in your old age, have you?"

Catherine laughed and playfully smaked Don on the arm. "You wish!"

Don turned to Trown and added, "You're both invited, if you'd like."

Trown shook his head. For some reason, perhaps he'd been around Duo too much, his long hair and goofy air reassured Trowa. "Ill have to pass. I have something to take care of. But would you do me a favor?"

Don looked confused a moment and the smiled and nodded as he offered his hand in a final shake. "Don't worry, man. I'll make sure she gets home safe." He said in a voice that said he meant it.

Trowa nodded, "I would appreciate it."

Catherine smiled, laying a quick kiss on Trowa's cheek she whispered, "Please be careful." Then she turned to follow Don, disappearing backstage.

* * *

In what substituted as her dressing room, Dorothy was quite agitated. She knew that she wasn't thinking very clearly, and her solution was to get away from the present situation so she could calm down and look at things more objecticly. Which meant, that she had completely justified walking away from everything.

She had her purse and grabbed her tip money, collected nightly in a jar at the front of the stage, which she had hidden. She was trying to cram on her coat when Amanda walked in.

"Where do you think you're going?" Amanda asked in a cool voice.

"Just for a walk." Dorothy replied smoothly, the lie rolling easily off her tongue. "It's a bit stuffy in here."

Amanda frowned. "In those?" she pointed down.

Dorothy looked down at her near-six inch spiked heels and blushed. "Well... I guess I..."

"Wasn't thinking." Finished Amanda. "You were getting ready to run away."

"Run away?" Asked Dorothy, cringing as her voice came out higher-sounding then she intended. "What exactly would I be running from?" She questioned, getting a little angry at being found out so quickly.

"I dunno, lord knows if I knew a hunky man sitting out in the audience, I wouldn't rush backstage and start throwing things on to take off. Trowa seems like a nice enough guy."

Dorothy stood slack-jawed. "How did…?

Amanda smiled, "I have my ways." She said.

Dorothy sat down hard. "Well, then what am I suppose to do?"

Amanda sat down next to Dorothy. "Try talking to him."

Dorothy scoffed. "Talk to him? Do you even realize who sent him? Do you?" she asked nearing hysteria. Then she laughed and took a deep breath lowering her voice, "Of course you don't know. But, ... Quatre sent him."

Amanda shrugged putting a protective arm around her friend. "That's good though right? That shows he cares."

"Not enough to come himself. He had to send his boyfriend..." Dorothy said coldly.

Amanda inhaled sharply. "You mean, he's the one who..."

Dorothy sighed, interrupting Amanda. "You're not going to let me leave, are you?" It was a statement more than a question.

Amanda smiled softly. "No. You need to do this, Dorothy. Everybody deserves to come to terms with their past. And until you do, you'll find you'll never be able to stop running." Amanda's voice dropped at the end until she was almost whispering. Her eyes clouded over briefly, but before Dorothy could ask what she meant Amanda continued. "Anyway, it's the perfect opportunity. You're both on neutral ground."

Dorothy disagreed with that, but she resigned herself to the task. "Fine, let me wash this make-up off and get a drink."

Amanda smiled. "Great! I'll go let him know." She said as she rushed out, before Dorothy could change her mind.

Dorothy sighed and then bent over the small sink and began scrubbing off the heavy stage makeup, barely able to resist the urge to duck out the maintenance door in back.

She could be gone and on the STP in 10 minutes…

Only, wasn't it just an hour ago that she was feeling so content with everything? Wasn't that happiness worth standing to fight for? She wasn't one to give up without a fight, and if it was a fight he wanted she'd give it to him.

* * *

When Amanda reached Trowa's table, she found him sitting alone with a fresh beer. "Where's Catherine?" She asked.

"She went home with an old friend. She thought it would be better, as she's not really involved in all this."

Amanda nodded and sat down. The two occupants of the table were silent for a few moments, until Amanda finally spoke.

"Look, I know who you are… or at least who you used to be and what you're capable of." She paused, taking in his composed face. She was sure she had shocked him, but looking at him you'd never be able to tell. Lowering her voice to almost a growl she continued, "but don't think for a second, that I won't break your neck if you hurt her." She said.

Trowa looked at her, surprised at the venom in her usually pleasant-sounding voice. "Like I said before, I didn't come here to hurt her."

Amanda searched his eyes for a moment before finally nodding. "Alrighty then." She replied. No trace of the hostility she had just displayed. She stood and looked towards Dorothy who had just appeared from the back room, still wearing her red dress and shoes. Amanda frowned briefly as she saw Dorothy make a bee-line for the bar and being talking to Travis.

"Well, of course, I can start a tab for you." Travis said smiling, as Amanda approached close enough to hear what they were saying. "I'm surprised you never asked before." He winked at her.

Dorothy smiled, her flirtations escaping her. "Just please, when I wave, have someone bring another one alright?" She said calmly.

Travis nodded. "Double scotch on the rocks. Gotcha." He said as Dorothy turned to walk towards Trowa.

Amanda intercepted her. "Dorothy are you alright?" she asked, obviously concerned.

"I'm fine." Dorothy said, a mask of poise firmly in place. "Why?" She asked, casually sipping her drink and trying not to wince at the strong burning sensation.

"Well, you've never drunk alcohol before… that I've seen." Amanda floundered a second trying to voice her concern.

"Actually, you're right. Aside from a glass or two of champagne, I've never tried alcohol. But I fell like I need a little something tonight; just to give me a little courage." She smiled, perhaps a little too brightly, "Don't worry, I'll be fine." She told her friend calmly.

Amanda frowned at the woman before her.

There was absolutely no sign of the Dorothy who almost lost control and ran away in her six-inch spikes. In her place was a strangely calm, overly composed actress who never missed a cue, nor tripped on the upturned corner of a rug.

Strangely, in stead of reassuring Amanda, it worried her. Burying emotions is never a good way to address or change them. However, as there wasn't anything else to do she matched Dorothy's stride and walked to the table with her.

Trowa stood to allow Dorothy to sit first. A gentlemanly gesture imposed on him by Quatre.

After Dorothy was situated, Amanda said her goodbyes and left, bumping into Trowa.

"Please, make sure she'll be ok." Amanda whispered under her breath as she apologized told Dorothy she'd see her at home later and left quickly.

Trowa frowned. 'What did she mean?' he wondered. But he didn't have very long to ponder it, as he focused on Dorothy who was seated in front of him. He had much more important things to think about.

Like, now that he had her here, what was he supposed to do?

* * *

KatsyKat: Whoo-Hoo! We'll it's taking me longer than anticipated, but I almost have everything edited! This chapter was edited in August 2006. Feel free to move along to the next chapter that's posted…

Catherine: Umm... excuse me?

Kat: blinks yeeessss?

Catherine: Well, it's not a big thing really, just...

Kat: So then just say it. I've still got editing to do here and I'm pretty sure that these nice people would like to read the end.

Catherine: It's just that... I was quite a bit ooc, I think. And since I'm me, I would know.

Kat: Oh, not you too!... sighs and pulls out THE NOTEBOOK What' exactly is the problem?

Catherine: Well, I would never just LEAVE Trowa to some mission where he has to fight. I would PROTECT HIM!

Kat: Oh, Geez. thinks a moment and taps pencil on her temple Well, if it's any consolation, Trowa doesn't do any Mobile suit fighting in this fic.

Catherine: Oh, well, ok then. I guess that will be fine, as long as he's not fighting… walks away

Kat: grins and whispers to readers I said he wasn't fighting in a Mobile Suit... not that he wasn't fighting... hee hee.

Catherine: yells from offstage I heard that!

Kat: runs stops erratically dodging knives being thrown in her direction

Catherine: I KNOW you didn't forget I keep my knives with me!

Kat: YIKES! turns to readers and goes all announcer-voice Who does he fight? Dorothy? Quatre? Mr. Magoo?... Click "Next chapter" to find out in the next exciting... or at least I'd like to think semi-entertaining,... chapter of Alone. All reviews are welcome and appreciated.


	8. Things Never Told...

**Alone **

Chapter 8 **"Things never told…"

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Dorothy sat, perfectly poised, at the table in front of Trowa, showing none of the fear that she felt deep in her stomach. She leaned back with her long legs crossed, and her right arm slung carelessly over the back of the chair while her left hand casually held her drink. She sat as still as any mannequin.

Although she had washed off the stage make-up, her lips remained darkened, and her eyelashes sooty. The only noticeable difference from here and the stage, Trowa noted, was the fact that without all that make-up, Dorothy looked very pale. With her blonde tendrils falling from her half-bun and framing her face, she looked almost as perfect as a porcelain doll.

Trowa sat equally still. His emerald eyes never wavered nor strayed from Dorothy's face, although he took in everything. 'She has lost some weight.' He noted. 'And the way she's sipping her drink, I'd bet that she's never drank before. That would explain how worried her friend was about her.' Trowa's face remained neutral, but inside he frowned.

At each sip of the amber liquid, Dorothy had to force herself not to gasp for air to try to relieve the burning sensation. However, focusing on that and not on Trowa's being here was much less complicated, and allowed her focus. As she neared the bottom of the glass, she tilted her head back and quickly downed the rest. She swallowed, quickly blinking back tears and resisting the urge to gag. Turning she waved to the bartender, who quickly prepared another drink.

After she received her second drink, she downed more than half of it in a single gulp. Then, growing impatient with Trowa's calmness she snapped. "Well, as lovely as this thick silence is, I'm sure you didn't come here just to stare at me, Mr. Barton."

"No." he Trowa answered honestly. "I actually came here to have dinner with my sister."

Dorothy's mouth dropped to the floor. "You mean you weren't looking for me?... that Quatre isn't,... wasn't..." Realizing she was babbling, she quickly snapped her mouth shut and glared at him.

Trowa smiled, amused by Dorothy's reaction. 'In fact,' he thought, 'she reads people better than she thinks she can, but she second guesses herself too often.'

After waiting for Dorothy to regain her composure and stare evenly at him, Trowa asked her. "You already knew that by leaving like you did, Quatre was going to worry about you."

Dorothy shrugged, but quickly looked down into her drink, before taking another sip. "If I could make him stop that, I would. I've told him before…" She trailed off as if she realized what she was saying and closed her mouth again. That was the first sign of weakness that she had ever shown to him.

Realizing that Dorothy wasn't going to answer any further, Trowa continued in a calm voice. "Of course Quatre is worried about you, and yes he did ask me to help look for you. You had to know that would happen. Logically to me, but not so to Quatre, is why you would do such a thing."

Trowa paused but Dorothy remained silent. "You see, I would assume that you didn't care about him." Dorothy's eyes snapped up to Trowa's, "Except I know better. Perhaps you – like me – cared too much about him." Dorothy looked like she'd been slapped, her eyes were as wide as saucers and she clutched her drink tightly. Trowa decided to move on quickly before she got her voice back.

"Regardless of your reasons, the fact remains that tonight's meeting is purely coincidental. I hadn't, as yet, found any clues to your whereabouts."

Dorothy scowled. After all that, and it was just a chance meeting? She was tempted to doubt him, but she had a knack of knowing when people were lying to her, and Trowa was being honest at least. It was frustrating. However, Dorothy was used to getting the short end of the stick.

She sat up, adjusting her poise, and tilted her glass up. "Well here's to chance meetings." She said bitterly, downing the rest of her second drink. She waved to the bartender again.

Trowa frowned. "Maybe you should take it easy on those. They're doubles."

"I know what they are." Dorothy snapped raising an eyebrow at him. "What? Don't tell me that you've been searching for me all this time just to play my mother? As you very well know, there's no drinking age on any of the colonies, so if it offends you, why don't you leave?"

Trowa sighed, and turned the other cheek, so to speak. He took a sip of his beer and waited for Dorothy to speak.

After a few more minutes of silence, Dorothy finally did speak. "What are you waiting for?"

Trowa raised an eyebrow. "What should I be waiting for?"

Dorothy sighed. "Do you always answer a question with a question?"

In this Trowa was caught off-guard. "What do you mean?"

"That." Said Dorothy, smiling coldly. "Asking a question in lieu of a question is a very effective way of avoiding the need to answer. People use it as a self-defense mechanism." She paused, tilting her head, now feeling a little more in control of the situation, "What I'd like to know, is why you feel that you need to defend against me, when I'm the one who's backed into the corner, so to speak."

Trowa frowned. Since when did this get turned around on him? 'She's good.' He told himself. 'I'll have to be more careful.' He shrugged, trying to take away some of Dorothy's self-confidence by making her 'realization' seem unimportant. "I don't like to talk about myself, and so I've made of habit of asking first and talking later."

Dorothy frowned. She knew she had hit on a tender spot, but he was very good at covering it. She took another drink of her Scotch. This was a most interesting game of cat and mouse. And it had been a while since Dorothy had played. No matter, she was sure she could handle it. The only question was; Was she the cat, or the mouse?

Trowa waited for a response that he didn't really expect. And soon, as Dorothy was not in the mood to be patient, she asked him. "So, what is it that you want?" she snapped, "What did you hope to accomplish by finding me?" 'Damn it!' she cursed herself. 'You're being too blunt. He's going to see through you. It's all from being around Amanda, her habits are wearing off.'

Trowa raised an eyebrow, wary of a trap. "I'm not trying to accomplish anything." He stated, sipping his beer. "In fact, I'm not even supposed to be here. If... When I found you, I planned on informing Quatre on how you were doing, and then letting him handle it. Whether or not he planned on seeing you is his business. He only asked me to find you." He said. "I would have left with Catherine, if Amanda hadn't told me she'd get you so we could talk."

Dorothy scowled, so the only reason she was here talking to Trowa was because of Amanda. She slammed down the rest of her drink and ordered another.

Trowa frowned, mentally counting. 'That puts her on her fourth.'

Just before Dorothy received her next drink, she changed tactics. "Do you love Quatre?" She asked.

It took every ounce of strength for Trowa not to spit up his beer. "Excuse me?" He said, when he finally managed to swallow. The only thought running through his head was, 'was I really that transparent that everyone knew?...' a light, barely noticeable blush crept across his face.

Dorothy immediately realized her mistake. "I mean as a friend." she said quickly, not missing his clue earlier of Quatre's let-down, "As a close friend. Someone you care about." She pressed.

Trowa frowned and then nodded. "If we weren't friends, I wouldn't be calling favors from every competent person I know, looking for you." He said with added sarcasm.

"You're avoiding the question." She snapped. "But that will do for an answer." She paused, biting her lip slightly to appear as if she were in deep thought, ever the perfect actress. Then she focused on Trowa. "It seems to me that, if you care about Quatre at all, as a friend, then you must understand what a horrible influence I am on him. I'll just cause him more pain than he's trying to lift from my shoulders. So, as a friend, you must realize what a blessing it would be for me to just disappear from his life." She said compassionately. "I mean, sure, he'll be a little upset for a time, but eventually he'll get over it and move on." She said in a voice she didn't believe.

Trowa sat back and crossed his arms. He could see where this was heading. Dorothy didn't want him to tell Quatre where she was. But why?... It couldn't be because she actually cared more about Quatre than she does for herself... or could it? Could her problem, her 'burden,' be about her past? In that case, I'm a much better person to help her than Quatre is.

'Wait a minute?' Trowa countered. 'Did you just think about HELPING her?'

'Of course not!' He replied, not so sure. I was just implying that Quatre isn't necessarily the only person that could help her, so there's no reason it has to be him.

'Liar. You could help her.'

'How? Like I helped myself?'

'She could help you.'

'Who says I'm the one who needs help?'

'Fine. But it's not likely she'd be willing or qualified. How could she be capable of that when she's so wrapped up in her own problems?'

'Look at her.'

Trowa did. He saw a very strong woman, who had overcome great obstacles, and even now, when she felt threatened or rather more-so because she was threatened, she was still trying to play people like chess pieces.

'So then who says she needs help?' He asked

'Look at her again.'

Trowa did, reluctantly. This time he noticed how Dorothy's hair was falling, out of her bun and her tendrils seemed messier, than causal. Her face was flushed, as she nursed another double shot. And there were dark circles that he hadn't noticed before under her eyes.

'Ok, so she needs help.' Trowa admitted to himself, 'But why should it be me?'

'Because you understand how she feels...'

Trowa blinked and swallowed hard. All those years of shame, of dishonor. The lying the hiding. I do know, in some small way, how she feels. Even about Quatre.

Trowa's eyes widened. Could it be that Dorothy clung on to Quatre is much the same way Trowa had? And Quatre had 'cut them both loose' so to speak. What would Trowa do if someone found him when he left for that month and tried to drag him back to Quatre on Quatre's request?

'I would have... I would have hated Quatre.'

Trowa's eyes widened. Is that what she's contemplating? Hating Quatre? If that's true then by being here, I'm doing much more harm than good.

Dorothy regarded Trowa's face. He betrayed little of his emotions until his eyes widened and he looked at Dorothy again. Dorothy turned her head quickly, avoiding his glance. When she spun her head she noticed how lightheaded she felt. A little out of control. Like she was underwater, and her movements were constricted and slower, but easier at the same time. There was also a dull roaring, that she assumed was the background noise of the tavern, but looking around she realized that there were only a few other tables occupied.

She blinked repeatedly and shook her head slightly, but still ordered another drink. After a few moments, Dorothy had enough of the silence. "Don't you realize that by letting me disappear and not finding me, you'd be a better friend to Quatre in the long run?"

Trowa shrugged. "Perhaps. But what about everyone else?"

Dorothy frowned, confused. "What do you mean, "everybody else"? What about them. They probably don't even know I'm alive, nor do they care that I'm not living it up in the luxury of Dermails life insurance." At once, she realized her mistake. By mentioning Dermail, she had brought up the subject and was now almost obligated to answer his questions on the matter.

"Which brings us to a valid point…" Trowa started.

"I don't want to discuss it." Dorothy interrupted.

Trowa frowned. "I think you do."

"Well, I said I don't. Didn't I? I think I'm quite capable of knowing what I do and do not want to discuss." She stated regally, causing Trowa to wonder if those numerous double shots were affecting her at all. She seemed so composed.

Trowa crossed his arms. Not budging from the subject. "Well, I think that you owe it to me, after everything I've gone thought…"

It took every ounce of strength for Dorothy not to jump up and strangle him. "OWE you? Owe YOU? You've burst into my private life and threatened to tell others and I owe you?"

Trowa frowned, 'so much for the "not affecting" her idea. Now she's nearly hysterical. Great. Just what I need.' He thought, looking around and noting the glare from the big bartender that Trowa assumed was the owner.

He turned back to Dorothy and lowered his voice in an attempt to calm her. "I would say that you owe it to Quatre, but instead I'll say this. Before I decide on which course I'm going to take in handling you're... reappearance, I need to understand the circumstances you left under."

Dorothy scowled. She was most certainly backed completely into a corner now. There was no way out, except to tell him. "Fine." She said curtly. "But you're going to be terribly bored, as I assume what I'm going to tell you is all old news to you by now."

Trowa shrugged and sat back.

"Well, where should I start?" She tilted her head and put a finger to her chin. "The part about being ditched by my parents since before I can remember? The part about living and working in a hotel? Or how about when Mr. Trieze Kushranada 'rescued' me?"

Dorothy paused, noting Trowa's reaction, or rather lack of a reaction. "So you already knew all that?... ok, so maybe you want the details of how Dermail forged my records and 'adopted' me? But I'm betting you knew that, as well. So why are you dragging this out?" She was beginning to get antsy. Something she couldn't remember ever happening to her before.

Trowa frowned. Dorothy was getting upset. He had never seen her lose her composure like this. Well, there was that ONE time on Libra… but that was what he would call an exception. Normally she was a cunning little minx. Perhaps it was because of the scotch. He frowned. How many had she had...

Before he reached an answer, he looked at Dorothy's angry face and decided to explain. "You're taking this the wrong way. Yes, I did figure out that you were not Dermails granddaughter, however I am more curious about the fact that you have many friends that are very well off that could..."

"Take me in?" Asked Dorothy sweetly, "Oh right." She said her voice rising once again. "So I should have lived off someone else's charity."

Trowa frowned. "You had an esteemed position within the Roomafeller foundation,..."

"Behind Dermail." She added.

"Perhaps, but the foundation would have certainly taken you in some sort of position. You're not stupid, you could be a great asset to them. These days they need a more youthful direction."

Dorothy blushed, remembering exactly what an asset she had been, and it wasn't the kind Trowa was talking about.

Trowa frowned. That was not the reaction he was expecting.

After a moment of silence Dorothy spoke quietly. "I... I never really fit into the Roomafeller foundation's idea of a representative. I only did it for Dermail. I related much more to the ideals of OZ."

Trowa sat back. "To OZ..."

"Yes." Said Dorothy calmly. "It may seem strange to you, Mr. Barton, since you spent so much of your time and energy fighting OZ; but once you get past all the manipulative members, OZ had a very good foundation, and good politics for the people. Most of them were just handled horribly wrong." Her eyes glazed slightly as if she were deep in thought.

"Like the war."

Dorothy shook her head. "The war went according to plan. It was perfect... magnificent. The only mistake about the war was..." she looked down. "Mr. Treize's death. It wasn't supposed to happen. We are lost without him."

"Death's are not supposed to happen at all. But in war..."

"People die." Dorothy said harshly finishing his sentence. "But still, He was not to die in the war."

Suddenly Trowa blinked realizing what they were talking about. He shook his head. "We're getting off topic." He said.

Dorothy grinned coldly, giving Trowa a look that said clearly that was exactly what she'd been going for. "Are we?" She asked, her innocent tone an obvious lie. "And what topic should we be on?"

"You." He said simply.

She frowned. "What else is it you want to know?"

"If you're so much for OZ and not the Roomafeller Foundation, then why didn't you go to OZ for a position? You were very well known during the war, I'm sure you would have no problem..."

"Doing what exactly?" Dorothy snapped.

"What do you mean?"

"What exactly do you think I'm qualified for?"

Trowa was stumped. He wasn't sure what she was asking exactly. "The things you did in the Roomafeller Foundation. From what I understand you were pivotal in their politics. You have a very persuasive..."

Dorothy giggled, very uncharacteristically, cutting him off. "You have no idea do you?"

Trowa frowned. He was missing something and he hated feeling like that. Finally he said. "Apparently not."

"Then let me spell it out for you." She slammed the rest of her drink. "First of all," she raised a finger. "In order to get into either organization, you have to be blood-related to a very long-time standing member. And believe me, these organizations go back hundreds maybe even more than a thousand years."

Trowa blinked. "A thousand years?" He asked in disbelief.

Dorothy smiled, happy to have told him SOMEthing that he didn't already know. "Oh, yes. They weren't near as influential back then but, there are documents. So, since that damned insurance company had to ask me to take that blasted DNA test, I would have been forsaken from the foundation anyway, once they found out And believe me, they WOULD find out."

She frowned and taking another drink of her newly refreshed drink and completely missing the concerned look that Travis gave her when he brought it.

"And secondly, did it every occur to you, why people would listen to such a young woman? Even under Dermails wing, so to speak? Com'on you're not stupid. What could I offer them that Dermail couldn't dream of?"

Trowa opened his eyes. "You mean he sold you out as a whore?"

Dorothy slapped her glass down, sloshing the drink over her hand. "Watch your MOUTH!" She screamed.

Trowa looked around the restaurant quickly, noticing that the big bartender looked ready to kill.

Dorothy looked around as well, and noticing Travis, she smiled and waved her apology. Travis frowned, but nodded and went in back.

When they were alone, because they were alone now all the other patrons had left, Dorothy seemed to calm down.

She turned back to Trowa. "I want this stu be clear. I didn't have sex with every old guy in the foundation, however..." she paused smiling, and sipped her drink. "However, some of the delegates did require certain favors in regards to certain important votes."

Trowa stayed silent, cautious of upsetting Dorothy in her obviously intoxicated state. There was no way she'd be talking like this is she was sober.

Dorothy paused. "Well, aren't you going to shey anything?... No? ... Isn't this what you're suppose-sed to find out for dear Quatre?"

Trowa cleared his throat. "Like I said before, my only intention was to find out if you were alright and..."

Dorothy cut him off. "You liar!" She spat. "You were supposed tis spy on me, wasn't it 'every competent person I knew trying to find you?"

Trowa frowned. 'How the hell could she remember that?' In her current state, estimating the amount of alcohol consumed verses her weight,... He doubted very much she could stand up.'

Dorothy sighed. "Anyway, here's the rest stof my sad life story for darling Cat-ter-a (Quatre). You, I mean Quatre, is probably wondering why Mr. Trieze 'rescued me' from the dirt hole my parents stit-diched me in."

Trowa frowned. 'Does she know that she reminded Treize of his little sister?...'

Dorothy smiled. "I was a prostitute." She laughed. "Even back then I knew the only thing g'I was good it. Made those bastards at the inn a lot of money, too." She said.

Trowa opened his mouth to speak, but found that he couldn't say anything.

"Aww. What's wrong? Are you speechless?" She sighed, "You're kinna cute quiet. Well, here's another little soap-opera tidbit. In the first all-girls private school I attended..." she lowered her voice and leaned over next to Trowa as if she were telling him a secret.

"I was raped." She sat back and giggled. "A couple of times actually." She shook her glass, swirling the last bit of scotch at the bottom. "I have nightmares sometimes, still." She sighed. "So now you know everything there is stu'know about me. Oh, excuse me, I mean Quatre knows."

Trowa sat in silence.

Dorothy sighed and waved her hand in front of her flushed face. "Is it hot in here, or is it just me?" She asked.

Trowa shrugged, not trusting his voice.

Dorothy rolled her eyes. "Well, you know what? I think 'em tired a playing this game."

Trowa raised an eyebrow. "Game?"

"Yeah. Little while ago, I finally figured I was the mouse, and now it'sdime for me to ss-curry back into the hole I crawled outta." She stood up wavering slightly, before she grabbed the table to steady herself.

"Wait." Trowa said standing up and reaching out to Dorothy to help her steady herself. "You shouldn't...

Dorothy reacted violently, backing up into another chair, and almost falling over it.

"Get away from me!" She screamed a little louder than she intended, causing Trowa to glance apprehensively at the doorway behind the bar as Dorothy continued. "I'm beyond caring about whether tell Quatre right about now. I know it's sprobably the Scotch talkin', but... fuck Quatre. And fuck you!"

With that she turned, her long blonde hair swishing in front of Trowa's face as she made her way haphazardly out the side door – bouncing chair to chair to keep her balance.

Trowa stood there for a moment. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He was trying to sort through everything Dorothy had just said, until he felt a heavy hand clamp on his shoulder. Trowa resisted his initial urge to send the person sprawling and turned slowly to see the large bartender standing behind him with a menacing look on his face.

Dorothy was so pissed. But she wasn't even sure what she was pissed about. Even now, only a few minutes later, she couldn't recall why exactly she had told Trowa all those things. 'I've never told anybody before.' She kept telling herself over and over, like a broken record. Each time it got louder in her ears until it was all she could think.

She'd never told. She'd never told. She'd never told… until now.

Finally, as she was finding it most difficult to walk she found herself concentrating on that more than anything. Her head felt surprisingly light, while her limbs were heavy. It seemed to take every ounce of her strength just to keep putting her feet in front of her. And the ground wasn't any better. She knew that it was flat – it had been flat earlier… so why was it pitching and rolling now?

As she passed the alley, just around the corner from the tavern she felt a hand grab her upper arm and wrench her into the dark shadows.

She slipped and unable to regain her balance in her 6-inch spikes she fell on her side, hard, hitting her head in the process.

Voices reached her through a fog.

"... didn't have to be so rough..."

"... not much fun... out cold..."

"... who's... first..."

"Look!... coming to..."

"... Alright... more fun... looks feisty..."

Dorothy struggled to pry her unwilling eyes open.

'Must stay awake,... DANGER!' Her mind told her. When she finally got her eyes open, she saw four men in dark clothes hovering above her. They didn't exactly look like the type of people who were trying to help her up.

"Get away from me!" She said bringing a foot up straight up into the crotch of one of the guys'.

As he bent over she rolled to the side, kicking the legs out from another guy. Years of fencing had trained her body, but when she jumped to her feet she struggled for her balance.

One guy had the sence to lunge for her. She tried to kick him as he ran for her, but she misjudged her weight, and while she hit him, it wasn't enough to hurt him.

It was, however enough to put her off balance enough to twist her other ankle, and with a sob of desperation she felt the ground rush up to meet her in slow motion, a blow to her head with the butt of a gun thankfully knocked her out before she hit.

The last thought that crossed her mind was, 'At least I won't be awake when they kill me...'

* * *

Kat: So there it is! Another updated chapter here in August of 2006! Not long now and I'll be putting out NEW CHAPTERS! Who-Hoo! Happy Day!

Dorothy: Excuse me, Miss Kat?

Kat: groans What is it?

Dorothy: It's just that I think perhaps I may have been just a little...

Kat: Let me guess. occ?

Dorothy: Yes. That is correct and now that we both understand the problem, I think we should.

Kat: Look, Dorothy. I am totally sick of every person I put in my fics complaining of their 'ooc'ness. So, let me put it this way... this is My fic.

Dorothy: I do beg to differ, after all, Miss Kat, I am the...

Kat: Look, I'm going to tell you like I tell everyone, only a little more bluntly, because you like to twist things. Shut up! Oy.

Dorothy: Fine, see if I'll be there for the next chapter.

Kat: Yeah, we'll see if you are.

Dorothy: Wha?...

Kat: You forget the cliffhanger... maybe you're already dead, only you don't know it.

Dorothy: You wouldn't dare...

Kat: Wouldn't dare what?...

Dorothy: Fine I'm leaving!

Kat: Oh, I'm so good! Please Review!


	9. Catastrophe averted... or just delayed?

**Alone**

Chapter 9 **"Catastrophe averted… or just delayed?"**

Apoligies can be found at the end of the chapter... um don't own 'em.

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/We last left our heroine drunken and in an alley with four very scary guys with our assumptive hero held up by the angry bartender.../

Trowa expected to be either dragged out into the street and tossed, or at the very least slugged. This huge bartender looked that pissed. But to Trowa's surprise he only narrowed his eyes.

"I don't take kindly to men that upset women & let them drink themselves into a stupor. I especially don't like it when they do it in public places. I give you some slack, because Amanda seems to think you're a decent guy who's trying help. But what pisses me off more than anything is when men let those intoxicated women run off by themselves after getting into such a state." Travis said menacingly. "I'd highly suggest that you see her home."

Trowa nodded and took a step back. "I was just about to." he said, relieved that he wouldn't have to fight the guy. Not that he was afraid that he couldn't handle it, but he wasn't quite in the mood. He laid a twenty on the table, more than enough to cover his two beers, and hurried out.

Stepping into the night air he looked around and was surprised not to see Dorothy. This street was like most on the colony-straight, and she had only left a moment ago. As drunk as she was, there was no way... Trowa tilted his head as he heard a faint scuffling noise and some laughing. He hurried over to a darkened alley and was shocked at what he saw.

Five guys were standing around Dorothy who lay on the concrete, unconscious. A thin line of blood dripped from her forehead over the bridge of her nose and collected in a pool in front of her extremely pale face. One of men had a gun and the other's had at least a knife each. When they heard him approach they turned to him. The one with a gun stepped forward.

"This is a private party, if you get my meaning." he said haughtily, waving the gun around in the manner of someone unused to holding it. "Why don't cha git lost there buddy?"

Trowa raised an eyebrow. "I doubt if that young woman would consider this a party." he said.

The man chuckled. "Maybe not. But you won't either if you don't hightail it out of here." he pulled back the hammer of the gun and pointed it in Trowa's direction, adding darkly, "…and I mean now."

Trowa continued to stare evenly at the man. "I suggest you all leave. I will not be responsible for the consequences that your actions call for."

A guy with dark blonde hair and about a dozen tattoos chuckled, cracking his knuckles. "Are you threatening us?" he asked, in an amused tone of voice.

Trowa shrugged. "Take it as you will."

The man with the gun lowered his arm. "You know, I like your spunk, kid. I just might let you join in the fun." He looked down to Dorothy and nudged her roughly with his boot. He frowned as her head lolled back to the pavement and she made no other motion. "That is, when the fun wakes up." he added.

A surge of anger flashed through Trowa. Weather it was due to the guy's coldness or the nostalgic feelings of the situation, Trowa didn't know or care. "You were warned." was all he said before he leapt into action.

Taking less that a baby step he chopped the ringleader's arm, causing the man to drop the gun and grab his arm in pain. After that Trowa jumped and did a triple flip to narrowly avoid being slashed by two knives. A kick to one man and a punch to another brought both to their knees gasping. Trowa then roundhouse kicked the next man and reached down to grab the gun that the first man had dropped, who still stood cradling his arm. Trowa held the gun straight up in the air and stared down the fifth man with a knife. The man turned and ran.

Trowa spoke calmly, not even out of breath. "I suggest you follow your so-called-comrade. Before I decide to use force." It wasn't but a few seconds later that the four remaining men picked themselves up off the ground and ran away.

Trowa sighed and looked down at Dorothy. 'Great.' he thought. 'Now she's really going to love me.'

'Wait a second. Why do I care what she thinks about me? It's not like I care.'

'But you do.' said a voice in his head.

'I'm only doing all of this for Quatre.' he countered.

'Are you?' asked the voice.

"Shut up." said Trowa aloud and he kneeled down and checked Dorothy over. After checking her pulse and examining both the cut on her forehead and the lump on the back of her head, Trowa concluded that, at least, she did not have a concussion. But, because of the amount of alcohol she had consumed, it did not appear as if she were going to wake up any time soon.

"Just great." he mumbled as he grabbed her purse to see if he could find an address to where she was living. He figured that although the man in the Tavern probably knew where she lived, it would be best for Trowa's well-being if he did not ask.

Finding a ID, obviously fake, he memorized the address and returned the contents quickly. Then he reached down and scooped up Dorothy, being careful not to shake her, and began walking to the street indicated on the ID.

* * *

Amanda heard the incessant door chiming as she was roused from her unusually pleasant dream. She groaned. "Dorothy, I swear if that's you, and you just forgot your damn key I'm going to kick your ass." she mumbled as she rolled out of bed and stumbled to the door. As she whipped open the door, she was forming all sorts of things to call Dorothy. However, she was met with a most surprising scene that caused her to bite back all the comments she had previously been contemplating.

Dorothy was standing, or rather swaying, in front of the door. A stream of blood dripped from her forehead down her chin and pooled onto her red dress making it appear wet, while the mysterious man from Travis's Tavern stood slightly behind her helping to support her despite her obvious resistance. They seemed to be in the middle of an argument and did not bother to stop as the door swung open and Amanda stared outright.

"I told you I dooo not n-need you help!" Dorothy protested loudly.

"Look at yourself." Trowa said, who was beginning to show signs of frustration, causing Amanda to wonder how long they had been arguing. "You can't even walk straight," Trowa continued, "and you expect me to just leave you alone to find your own way home. You were just unconscious a few moments ago." he said pointedly.

Amanda gasped, finally earning looks from Trowa and Dorothy. "What the hell happened!" she demanded, looking accusingly at Trowa.

Dorothy looked up and tried to walk in the apartment. She wound up stumbling awkwardly into Amanda's arms. With Trowa's help, Amanda helped to steady her friend. "I told him I didn't need hisss help. I was tak-king care of 'em." Dorothy told her friend.

Amanda looked up at Trowa for an explanation. Trowa paused and then looked at Dorothy. "She tried to leave the bar before me, and a few guys..."

"Hey I can tell her!" yelled Dorothy. "They jus-st wanted sommmoney. I had 'em right where I want-te-ted 'em. but..." She narrowed her eyes as if she were concentrating and the closed her eyes and leaned to the side. Jerking up suddenly as she almost lost her balance, she would have fell the other way if Trowa and Amanda hadn't steadied her. Dorothy giggled. "That felt so.. funny." she said giggling.

Amanda frowned. "No shit." she mumbled before speaking more loudly, "Did you fall or were you hit on your head. You're bleeding." she said reaching up and pulling Dorothy's matted out of the blood.

Dorothy reached up and touched the drying blood. "I guess I am." she said dazed as she looked at the blood on her fingers.

Trowa frowned. To him it looked like the guys wanted more than money. He wondered if Dorothy was lying for Amanda's sake or if she was truly trying to believe that. "We need to get her upstairs." he said to Amanda, who nodded.

Dorothy began yelling. "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here!" then she bent over and grabbed her head moaning and giggling at the same time.

Amanda and Trowa helped,... or rather hauled Dorothy upstairs to her room. Together they managed to lay her on the bed, and then Amanda turned and ran to the bathroom to grab a wet towel to clean Dorothy's head and face. Trowa took it from her and gently tried to clean the wound while Amanda tried to convince Dorothy to lie still. After it was cleaned with the towel and peroxide that Amanda had also grabbed, Amanda went to the dresser to find a nightshirt for Dorothy. As she pulled it out, she glared sternly at Trowa who took the hint and left the room, closing the door behind him.

He walked back down the stairs and looked around. The apartment was fairly nice, for this part of the colony. And everything seemed pretty well-kept. He glanced around briefly, and waited for a few minutes hearing muffled and not so muffled voices. He waited for almost fifteen minutes and was getting ready to leave as he heard Amanda's steps on the stairs. He looked up.

Amanda sighed, running a hand through her sleep-tousled auburn hair. "I honestly don't know whether to punch you for letting her get into such a state, or kiss you for bringing her home."

Trowa stared evenly at her, offering no response. He didn't want to tell her that personally he'd take the punch over gratitude, because even if he weren't directly responsible he still was the indirect cause of the evenings or rather mornings events.

Amanda sighed, closing her eyes briefly; she felt that he would have prevented the whole thing if he could have. Realizing that there is no guilt like the guilt you put on yourself she opened her eyes and looked at Trowa. "I know you weren't responsible. I just... For a moment had to reorganize my thoughts." she paused shaking her head and smiling as if she knew that hadn't come out the way she planned. Then she looked up with a concerned look, "Do you have a place to stay for the night, because I..."

Trowa interrupted her. "Thank you, but mine and my sister's trailer isn't far from here."

"Trailer?" asked Amanda.

Trowa nodded. "We work in the circus."

"Really, that sounds exciting?" asked Amanda, her attention perked. "What do you two do?" She asked wondering what death-defying stunts a Gundam pilot would perform in a circus.

"She throws knives at me." he said. Amanda looked at him and then laughed near-hysterically.

At Trowa's look of worry (over having another hysterical female to deal with) and confusion, Amanda shook her head and tried to take a couple of deep breaths. "I'm sorry." she gasped. "I just would have thought you'd be doing something more... I don't know... more dangerous, I guess."

Trowa frowned. "The knives are real." he said. "If she missed I'd be cut." he said, looking off for a moment and resisting the urge to put a hand to his face where Catherine had slipped. But then he mentally shook himself, seeing Amanda still staring at him, "I also work with the lions."

Amanda smiled. "Impressive." she said softly. "But I just get more from you than that."

Trowa furrowed his eyebrows. 'These are the kind of things that Quatre says all the time.' he thought. 'Like she's pulling the thoughts from my head. I was just thinking that working in the circus is something I do for Cathy, just as being a Gundam pilot was something I did for others as much as for myself. It's not who I am, or what I do for me.'

'Is it?' asked that ever annoying voice in Trowa's head. 'Didn't you take the Gundam as much to have a name as for the people.' Trowa didn't dignify the voice with a response.

A silence loomed over the two for a moment, and Trowa was having a hard time deciphering if it was comfortable or not. Trowa sensed that Amanda had something to tell him, but wasn't saying it. At the same time Amanda sensed that Trowa was waiting for her to speak.

Finally Amanda sighed, running her hand thought her hair again, which Trowa took as a nervous habit. "Look, this obviously wasn't the night for you two, but I think that this really needs to be resolved so she can totally get on with her life."

Trowa nodded. 'Not the way that I'd put it, but she's right.' "Everyone needs to be able to get on with their lives." he said thinking he meant Quatre.

Amanda waited for a moment. "So how do we go about this?"

"We?" asked Trowa.

"Well, yeah. I'm not just letting you two talk anymore, not after tonight." She held up her hand. "I'm not blaming you, and I'm grateful that you brought her home, but I think I could help."

Trowa frowned. 'She's making it seem like we're married or something.'

As if Amanda were thinking the same thing, she laughed. "You don't need to explain anything to me, I think I've already got the gist of it." she said nodding, as if assuring herself.

Trowa resisted the urge to smile, she was very much like Quatre. She didn't need to be told everything that was in between the lines. "So what do you think would be best?" he asked, realizing that with that line he was, in fact, asking for her help. And why not? he wondered. She's already proved that she's more than willing and more than capable.

Amanda smiled. "Well first of all you and I and especially Dorothy all need some sleep and some time to think things over, so how about we meet for dinner tomorrow?"

Trowa shook his head. "I don't think that being in public is a good idea. Maybe we could just..."

"Say no more!" said Amanda. "We'll have take-in. I'd cook, but I'm not sure it'll be edible." she laughed.

"What time?"

"Um... how about 5." she smiled. "Is Chinsee ok?"

Trowa nodded "That's fine. But you should be warned, she'll probably tty to leave before then."

Amanda smiled evilly. "Who says I'm going to tell her?"

Trowa frowned. "Are you sure that's wise? I don't want her to feel threatened."

Amanda faked an injured look, "Hey, do I look threatening to you?" she asked, smiling. "Just leave it to me."

Trowa nodded, a bit perplexed. 'How can I feel so sure of this girl when I just met her?' He wondered as he held out his hand. "Dorothy has truly made herself a great friend." he told her as he headed toward the door."

"You better believe it." said Amanda, resisting the urge to slap his fine-looking butt on the way out.

* * *

KatsyKat: Panting WHEW! There's the 3rd one revised this month! Yea! Closer and closer to the end! Now I'd just better say adieu before…

Amanda: Taps KatsyKat on the shoulder Um... excuse me.

KatsyKat: Turns with a look of pain, sees it's just Amanda and smiles Oh Amanda it's just you what's up?

Amanda: What's up? WHAT'S UP?

KatsyKat: Holds up hands What do you mean. You can't tell me you were ooc, you're my character.

Amanda: pauses Well, to be honest I hadn't thought about that... but it seemed that everyone else was complaining.

KatsyKat: Well you aren't everybody else now are you?

Amanda: Well, no. ... But it just seems that I shouldn't be so busy picking up Dorothy's life. I should be getting along with my own. I'm a great person and I deserve a boyfriend!

KatsyKat: Just wait, Amanda you're getting a little ahead of my storyline.

Amanda: Really?

KatsyKat: Just wait and see. And that goes for the rest of you too.


	10. Stepping back to see the Whole Picture

**Alone**

Chapter 10 **"Stepping back to see the Whole Picture"

* * *

**

Trowa slipped in the window to his room silently. He could use the front door, after all he did have a key, but he didn't want to wake Catherine at... He glanced at the red numbers of the alarm clock just after one thirty.

He didn't bother to turn on the light as he sat in the chair next to his bed. Something was bothering him, but he didn't need the light to think.

'It's at this point that I wonder if this whole mission is a wash. No.' he paused, 'not a mission. This... ordeal.' He sighed. He had no idea where to go from here. Duo was, of course, on stand-by: ready and willing to break into that storage facility on L-2.

But that wasn't relevant anymore, was it? After all, he had found Dorothy, which was the objective. What did it matter now who her parents were? He now knew that she had no idea who they were anyway, so there was no way that finding them could have led him to her. It wasn't his business, nor was it his nature to pry. Perhaps she didn't even want to know what was in that bin.

'Or maybe she does.' chirped that annoying little voice.

Either way, if by the slimmest chance Dorothy turned out to be related to Treize... Trowa shook his head.

"Tip the world power over to OZ." he recalled Lade Une saying. Was that really possible? Was civilization ready to accept another bizarre turn of events in the world powers? And even if so, who had the right to drag it up? This whole assignment was much more than he bargained for.

'Besides' he thought, temporarily dismissing the thought, 'finding out Dorothy's lineage was never my objective. The storage bin was only a lead that I had to follow through with, because there were no other leads.' Now that he had accomplished his goal, what was the point of digging up old ghosts? After all, they were just old records, that at least one person had taken with him to the grave.

Trowa paused. He knew that he had at least a few hours before Dorothy was able to run, if she were going to run, that is. So what did he do? Did he try to stop her by talking to her? How well did that go over last night? Did he use force? Did he call Quatre to talk to her? Or... it was sad to say, but Dorothy's offer to let her go and act as if he couldn't find her didn't sound so bad. After all, if this storage bin turned out to be a dud, and even if it didn't, Trowa would have probably never found Dorothy. She had left no trail to follow.

But, what course of action is best for all involved? Not just Quatre, or himself, but also Dorothy.

'To understand that, I must understand Dorothy more.' He thought, 'What is she really running from? It can't be Quatre. Even if she doesn't want to face him yet, she wouldn't be so determined to sever all ties. Unless she truly thought of herself as having no ties...' He paused, thinking about the evening. A few things stuck out in his mind.

For example, after he had chased away those thugs and Dorothy was lying unconscious on the concrete, he had gone through her purse. Obviously, he had no idea of what he should find, but it was the things that he didn't find that caused concern.

There were no pictures. None, what-so-ever. No phone numbers of any friends. Nothing to show that she so much as had contact with anyone. He knew he shouldn't jump to conclusions, but he was willing to bet that tomorrow, if he asked that Amanda girl, he would find out that Dorothy didn't have any friends or hardly even any acquaintances. That's how she had always been as far as Trowa or anyone knew. Even according to Heero, who's perception skills Trowa considered to be of the highest quality, had mentioned something similar in regards to the time when they attended the same school, no matter how briefly.

That left the question; 'Why would anyone choose to sever themselves from the world like that?' As he asked himself that question, his eyes widened. After all, hadn't he done the same thing?

'Maybe not exactly, but close enough.' Argued the voice. He always kept a picture of his father, sister, and himself. Family that he had no memory of, but still carried the burden of trying to remember. In theory he HAD gone through the same thing.

He didn't remember any of his family. He lived for each battle, much like Dorothy. He paused. For all the hardship, Trowa found himself in battle. It made him feel alive, as if he had a purpose, and what he was doing mattered in the scheme of things.

Dorothy didn't... no she couldn't actually fight. The situation she found herself in would not allow it. So she followed after the battles like a lost puppy, looking for its mother.

He shook his head, holding back a scoff. No, that isn't right. It's too delicate a description for Dorothy. She followed battles like a cat sharpens its' claws to catch a bird. Or maybe...

Trowa blinked the spots out of his eyes, as the hall light suddenly flicked on. The angle of his chair was so that his eye was in a direct beam of light from the bulb. As he was about to stand, Catherine stepped into the light. Trowa shook his head briefly to clear his vision, wondering if it was possible that he was so deep in thought he didn't hear her get up from bed?

Catherine crossed her arms and leaned against his doorway. She paused for a moment sighing, and then spoke softly. "I can't believe you, sometimes. What, did you do, sneak in the window?" she accused.

Trowa nodded, guiltily. "I didn't want to wake you."

Catherine tried to be cross, and instead shook her head, chuckling. "I wasn't sleeping, baka. I was on the couch waiting for you to come home."

Trowa paused. "Sorry." He said glancing at the clock, 2:37 am. Had he been here in the dark thinking, for the last hour?

Catherine smiled through teary eyes. "It's ok. I know I shouldn't. You can take care of yourself, but I really can't help it sometimes, Trowa." Trowa stood and Catherine threw herself into his arms. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you again."

Trowa sighed as he soothed Catherine. He knew that her life had been hard as well, although she always knew who she was, and even who he was. She had known how her parents and brother had died, but from the moment she first saw him she had told him that she knew he was her brother.

It wasn't until she had come into his room one day and saw the one photo that he had of his family that she could prove it to him, because she had a photo that was almost exactly the same.

After the truth was made obvious to both of them, it was very hard for her not to call him Triton. At first he had insisted she call him Trowa, because there was no proof, but after the matching pictures, the name "Trowa" became more of a symbol to him. It symbolized when he started to live again. It helped to connect the two parts of his life, as if both parts were equally important, and therefore not a waste. Out of respect that he had chosen a new identity and life, Catherine learned to call him Trowa.

It was then an odd thought crossed Trowa's mind. Dorothy's fake ID popped into his head. It had read Dorothy Perdre. Trowa wasn't an expert on languages, however he had spent some time in the area of the world that used to be referred to as France. He was pretty sure the verb was from the old French language.

After seeing Catherine to bed, Trowa turned on his computer and looked it up. "To be lost."

Trowa sighed and closed his eyes a small piece of the puzzle clicking into place. That was right. He had forgotten that Dorothy had no idea what her real name was. Didn't everyone at least deserve a chance to choose weather or not to be the person they were born to be?

Trowa got up to pace the room and ended up stepping into Catherine's room. He watched her sleep for a few minutes before coming to his conclusion.

Family, the name you're given, and the destiny you're born into are important. Maybe in varying degrees to different people, but they are important none-the-less. And everyone who is able should have the chance to choose the life that is his or her birthright.

Despite the fact that it may literally be world-shaking, Dorothy deserved that chance too. And if she still chose to run... Then there wasn't a force in the universe that could make her stay.

"The question now is," Trowa spoke to Catherine's sleeping form, as if asking her for advise. "Do I tell Dorothy before I break into the bin, or after?" And if I find what I think I may find... where do we go from there? He added silently, vowing that Dorothy would have to make that decision if, and when it came.

* * *

Kat: Oh my gosh! I thought nothing could be as hard as the last chapter. I'm right at the beginning of the end... or maybe at the end of the middle... or hell maybe I'm still in the middle of the beginning, who knows? I don't, and I'm writing the damn story. It's been ongoing for ages now, and I'm egar to complete it. SO now that I've revised my fourth – COUNT 'EM FOUR – chapters in one month – I'm almost ready to post my next one.

Stretches and yawns Well at least, both Trowa and Catherine (the only characters in this chapter) have already voiced their... shall we say "objections" to the story, so I've locked them out of my editing room. And that means that no one can possibly complain about this... Jumps as the door slams open and in walks... Wufei? What are you doing here?

Wufei: Injustice!

Kat: blinks Um... Wufei, I hate to break it to ya, but you weren't even in this chapter, so you can't possibly...

Wufei: That's exactly the problem. I'm your favorite character, why is it that this story isn't about me?

Kat: blushes Well yeah, Wufei... But you've only been my favorite character since I read Episode Zero. You know I change my favorite Gundam Pilot character at the drop of a hat! You've all been my favorite at one time or another. And besides, this story has been in the works for... cringes A LOT longer than I'd like to admit, and at the time Dorothy was my character of choice.

Wufei: Is that the BEST excuse you can think of, you WEAKLING?

Kat: pulls out THE huge NOTEBOOK of complaints and whaps Wufei over the head with it rendering him unconscious. Sorry to be so violent. I'm just not so sure I can take anymore from these borrowed characters. note to everyone: Yes i said borrowed. They are not mine.


	11. Painful Roadblocks

**Alone **  
Chapter 11 **"Painful Roadblocks"**

* * *

Darkness… 

Prickly heat…

Pain…

Conscious of only these things, Dorothy opened her eyes and shapes come very slowly into focus. Dark gray outlined by surrounding blackness.

…

Dorothy blinked her eyes trying to clear her vision.

Tall… objects…

Buildings! The shapes were buildings, but…

A pounding resonates through the air as if it were alive.

A flickering… what was that?

Turning her head, Dorothy catches a glimpse of a bright flash and a dark figure before it blends into the pitch-black background. She scans the horizon searching desperately; afraid to see the figure again, but terrified with the knowledge that she can no longer see it.

She swung hear head around from her position on the… street? The concrete feels warm under her hands.

The shadow is back! She raises her eyes to confront it, but there are more behind it!

Dorothy struggles to stand but the ground she is on tilts violently and she is forced back down to her knees…

As they near, they come into focus. Men, each bearing a weapon, all with glaring amber eyes. Their leader smiles at her… razor sharp teeth framed by unnaturally thin lips… Dorothy finds herself unable to move as fear twists violently in her stomach…

* * *

Trowa's fingers drummed impatiently as he tried to pull a schematic of the L2 storage facility that he and Duo planned to break into. From what he could discern, the security was unnaturally high. He had been working on the internet for the past hour and he had yet to score anything as simple as an aerial photo. 

It was understandable that if Dermail had something that he didn't want anyone to see he would store it there. The facility advertised 2 levels of security and even the lower level was tighter than the infamous Fort Knox.

The newest line of motion sensors, high-powered infrared sound detectors, weighed floor panels, and DNA readers were only some of the advertised security measures; Along with a "labyrinth-type setup sure to confuse even the more industrious of thieves".

Trowa looked up from the facilities home page. It seemed like the perfect place to hide something you didn't ever want found. A brief glimmer of his earlier considerations to leave sleeping dogs lie, surfaced briefly until it was overtaken by an image of Dorothy from last night. Her hair askew, her face flushed, obviously trapped but still fighting…

Trowa attacked his keyboard with hightened purpose, before he could ponder why the mere thought of her in distress made him want to help more…

* * *

Dorothy was awoken by sharp pains in her abdomen. The pain is so severe that for a moment she can not orientate herself and it takes a moment for her to figure out she was dreaming and she is, in fact, safe in her room. 

What was wrong with her?

The pain subsided briefly only to be replaced by a sharper more-urgent stabbing.

…Had she ever needed to pee so urgently? A frown of confusion crossed her face as she threw the suffocating blankets off of herself, welcoming the cool breeze on her clammy skin.

Attempting to sit up only caused more pain to make itself consciously apparent to the battered blonde.

The first shocking truth to Dorothy was how weak she felt. Struggling to simply sit-up, a constant pounding in her head was also making her slightly dizzy. And this did nothing to alleviate her need to urinate.

Despite protests from her entire body, it seemed, she swung her legs to the floor and began to stand. Angry white-hot pain from her ankle caused a gasp to escape her lips and she collapsed with a yelp, the instant she put pressure on her right foot.

Hot tears instantly filled her eyes as she focused on breathing deeply and minimizing the pain.

She tried to remember how she hurt her ankle and was surprised to realize that not only did she not remember hurting it – but she had no idea how she'd gotten home last night. The last thing she did remember was…

Another pain from her gut reminded her that she didn't have long to sit and think about it, if she wanted to maintain her dignity. Standing on her one good leg she made a stumbling leap to the wall, a mere arms reach away. Gritting her teeth as the jolt through her leg reminded her to be more careful, she awkwardly gimped into the bathroom – the wall her only stability as her equilibrium took a backseat to the pain running rampant through her body.

Trowa frowned as his best hacking program finished running and still failed to unlock the L-2 storage facilities employee files. He pushed away from the computer mildly disgusted. He had been trying for hours with no success to download information to find and order or create a new employee identification to assist him with infiltrating the warehouse.

From the look of it – it wasn't going to be that easy. He'd have to get in contact with an actual employee and get access to their company ID to create a duplicate.

He smiled bitterly. It didn't matter how tight an organizations security was, because it was still run by people. The rule of thumb was that people make mistakes. Like his so many years ago…

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image of Midi Une that popped into his head. It had been so long since he had thought about her.

He briefly consoled himself with the thought that his wasn't the first, nor would it be the last division to be raided from the inside out. He himself had used the same technique many times over. Although Wufei had interfered with Trowa's most recent attempt, he was certain he would have succeeded in MariaMia's army just as his did with the Alliance & Oz.

In comparison, infiltrating a storage facility should be a walk in the park.

Even if the company drilled proper security protocol into their employees and they are careful with their security badges and information (which in Trowa's opinion would be a first), it would still be easier to infiltrate an employee's house to obtain the information than to try the heist without it.

It's amazing how open people are when they believe they are on equal standing with one another… such as another employee. Even despite the fact they may never have met that employee before.

Trowa allowed himself a small smile before his computer beeped alerting him that it was finished with its process.

"Search Complete

No Results Found"

Trowa threw himself back in the chair and stared at the ceiling as if it could answer his questions.

His attempts to locate the whereabouts of Dermail's bin within the facility were officially a total flop. There were no schematics available through any government or municipal agency that Trowa could find.

He had even come up blank when he tried to "borrow" a satellite to take aerial photos. Breaking the codes to control it was a piece of cake… but when he entered the coordinates to photograph – or even tried to manually control the satellite over the coordinates to photograph the facility – it passed it by as if the compound didn't even exist.

He frowned. What kind of person could set up storage facility so top secret that it put to shame the best of OZ's and even the Preventor's security tactics?

Trowa wondered if the frown would ever leave his face. There was no point in planning ANY of the rest of the mission parameters if he could not even discern the location of the bin he needed to get into. It would be suicide.

The only other option he could think of was…

No – he couldn't, wouldn't ask Quatre for help on this. He was too emotionally involved.

'Like you're not.' Chimed that ever-annoying innervoice.

'I certainly AM not!' he argued back, only slightly surprised by the silence that accompanied his denial.

His frown deepened as he reviewed the megar information he had managed to gather on the storage facility. Primarily, this included an aerial view of the site more than 50 years ago. Which, sadly, was little to no help to the mission considering the updated security precautions and the likelihood of renovations over the years.

Again, as it often had, his mind bounced back to Quartre. He had the political standing to get a tour of the facially. Trowa's eyebrows furrowed. I wonder if they would request his personal presence, or if it would only take a phone call…

* * *

Dorothy moaned and she raised her head from the side of the bathtub. Thankfully the seemingly endless bout of dry-heaving seemed to be over… at last. She had ceased to have anything left in her stomach early on, but her body would not relent. 

Each time she had moved, she was buried under another wave of nausea. She glanced up at the clock… it was already ten after 1 and she had risen almost 2 hours ago. She was grateful that Amanda was not home to hear the tell-tale vomiting. Hopefully she could pull everything over Amanda's eyes…

But… thinking on it… Dorothy seemed to recall coming home… did she wake Amanda?

And was Trowa with her… or was that all a dream? She frowned.

Her memory lapse was bothering her more and more, as her hangover symptoms lessened and the evening stubbornly refused to pop immediately into her understanding. Sometimes she recalled statements but they floated away before she could remember the context and other times she could remember an expression on Trowa's face, but could not for the life of her understand what lead up to it. Not to mention the fact that nothing was lining up… it was as though the entire nights memories were overlapping and she was only seeing the edges.

She mentally shook herself, trying to stop guessing at the nights events. It was not helping alleviate the feeling that things had gotten horribly out of her control. She focused instead on the tangible task of tending to her ankle.

A quick comparison to the other foot proved the ankle was indeed swollen a great deal. A light purple bruising colored both sides of her ankle and Dorothy had a feeling it would only get worse. Carefully, she prodded her ankle and tried to move it causing sharp needles of pain to shoot up her leg. After a few moments she determined…

…that she should have paid better attention in the anatomy courses she had taken in school.

Truthfully she had no idea if she had just twisted it or broken the bone. Nor did she know how to tend to it, other than put a cold compress on it… or was it hot?

She almost wished that she had injured herself more in fencing so she would have a comparison for how bad it should hurt, given the type of injury. But alas, her grace had always overcome any potentially dangerous slips. So she had NO idea what she was dealing with.

With a frown she pulled herself up off the floor by the tub so she was sitting on the now closed toilet seat. Opening the vanity door she pulled out Amanda's first aid kit – wondering if she had an bandage stocked. Amanda had one better! An actual ankle brace greeted her after she pulled out the kit.

Smiling at her good fortune, Dorothy pulled the obviously worn but clean brace, and tried it on. To her frustration as she tightened the straps – the pain increased greatly. Spots filled her vision and a great rush filled her ears and the bathroom door looked suddenly farther away.

Biting her lower lip to keep herself from fainting, Dorothy waited a full minute for the throbbing to subside before she tried to stand.

As before, the moment she placed weight on the injured limb her leg buckled on it's own accord despite Dorothy's attempts to maintain her stance.

This time she cried out as she wobbled on her good leg and grabbed the sink to keep her from falling.

This wasn't happening… this couldn't happen. Not now!

Trowa had found her. He was going to tell Quatre. Quatre would find out she was hurt… She would become his charity case… and then… then there would be expectations of her.

Oh – Quatre seemed like he was different, and Dorothy wanted to believe that… but it was only a matter of time.

You don't get something for nothing.

If she had learned anything in her short life, it was that everything had its price: from material items like room and board to something as seemingly insignificant as a kind word.

The world had its balance and people had their expectations. If you can't pay in money…

Dorothy's thoughts were interrupted by a sob. It took her a second to register that it was her own. She reached up to the tears already streaming down her face and wiped them away furiously.

More agitated that holding in the sobs only increased their intensity; she bent down and allowed herself to cry in earnest.

Injured like this… how could she maintain her freedom? She was trapped.

* * *

KAT: Whew! This chapter has been sitting on my computer for the last couple of months. I've been fiddle-faddling with it in between work and play practice (our community players preformed Disney's Beauty and the Beast which was AWESOME!) and now that I have more free time in the evenings (and a BRAND SPANKING NEW LAPTOP!) I'm well on my way to finishing this story. 

I appreciate everyone's allowance regarding the spelling/grammar/typing errors and vow to have the story fully revised BEFORE my next update which I anticipate coming SOON!

It's my plan to have 5 – 6 more chapters, so the action's really going to peak! I hope you enjoy the ride!

Btw: I own nothing of Gundam Wing and borrow it without permission and without making any profit.

Thank you for reading, I hope you found something worth reviewing. ;)


	12. Amanda's Concern

**Alone  
**Chapter 12 **"Amanda's Concern"**

(Notes and Disclaimer to follow)

* * *

Amanda had heard Dorothy stumble out of bed and listened, in sympathy, to the tell-tale sounds of vomiting. 'On the bright side, I only have to stall her for an hour and a half.' She thought to herself sighing, as she braced herself for what was to come. She waited until she heard the toilet flush a final time and Dorothy hobbling back to her room, and then gave her a few more minutes to make sure she wouldn't be making any return trips.

'I may as well pretend to be surprised that she's going to be packing.' She thought. 'I will not let another person I care about, walk casually out of my life.

She treaded up the stairs slowly, too casually in her opinion, as if she were walking to her room and half passed Dorothy's room before she looked in and said with what she thought was just the right touch of surprise, but still sounded fake to her ears. "Dorothy, what are you doing?"

Dorothy looked up guiltily. "Oh, Amanda! I didn't know you were home. You scared me." She said, bringing her hand up to her chest as if her heart had tried to jump out.

Amanda resisted the urge to laugh. She was over-acting and knew Dorothy had to know… and at the same time Amanda knew that Dorothy was acting. It was like a big play going on between two people. She wondered how phony they would appear to an onlooker. Overall, Amanda found it an uncomfortable situation.

On the other side, Dorothy felt perfectly at ease. This was her playing field, where she felt at home. Or where she used to be so comfortable. The only obstacle, in her opinion, was to get out of here without hurting Amanda's feelings. And, after her warm-up exercise last night in the bar, (about which she was finally beginning to remember all too much) Dorothy was confident that she was still almost as sharp as she used to be, as long as she wasn't drinking double shots. Dorothy could kick herself for that, she still felt nauseous.

"You know, Amanda, I was thinking to myself. Things like this don't happen twice. The chances of a meeting someone like last night are… impossible to begin with. So, if I leave now without wasting any time, he won't be able find me." Dorothy said logically, focusing on folding a tee-shirt into a suitcase and preparing herself for an argument.

Amanda crossed her arms and leaned in the doorway to Dorothy's room. "You're probably right." She said simply.

Dorothy jerked her head up. Whatever she'd been expecting, acceptance from Amanda wasn't it; especially not in that whispery voice, as if she were afraid to speak loud. As Dorothy looked at her friend, she noticed the forlorn look on her face as she continued.

"If you leave now, you probably will be able to hide from everybody. But…" She looked up into Dorothy's eyes, "is that what you really want?"

"What?" asked Dorothy, tearing her eyes from her friend, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Dorothy, PLEASE, just think about what you're doing! Think about what you have. What you've gained in these last few months. You'll lose all that too. Is it really worth all that?"

Dorothy paused, looked up at Amanda's flushed face and then back down at her suitcase. "I know that I'm being wretchedly unfair to you." She said gently, "You've been a great friend. You've done everything to help me out, and for that I'm forever grateful, but…"

"No!" Amanda yelled, her fists clenched at her sides.

Dorothy dropped the pair of socks that she was packing. They bounced and then rolled across the floor under the bed. Dorothy slowly looked up at her friend.

"You're NOT changing the subject this time!" she yelled. "What is it you're running from, Dorothy?"

"I'm…" Dorothy furrowed her eyebrows trying to come up with some excuse. However before she could think of something Amanda yelled again.

"Stop trying to think of something to tell me, and just tell me!"

Dorothy took a step back, startled. "I'm just trying to…" she faultered.

"You don't even know anymore, do you?" accused Amanda, her tone much softer, even as her hands clenched and unclenched themselves at her sides. "That's how it starts, you know." She said as tears welled up in her eyes. "First you build up a wall to forget about it. Then you run. But, because of that wall, you gradually forget what made you run. And I don't mean you forget the reason, but you forget the feelings and the finer details. And you feel more horrible about that you build up another wall and keep on running from it all. Finally one day you realize that you've been running so far and so long that you don't even know where you belong anymore and by then you don't have anything to go back to." Amanda finished quickly as if afraid to stop talking once she'd begun. By the end of her long rushed speech, her throat closed off and she stifled a sob.

Dorothy paused, momentarily forgetting her suitcase, and stepped over to her friend, laying a hand on her arm. "Amanda, what are you talking about?" she asked.

Amanda shook her head, tears trickling down her cheeks. "I don't want to see it happen to you, Dorothy." She said.

Dorothy put her hands awkwardly on Amanda's shoulders. "Amanda,…" she said.

Amanda brought her sleeve across her eyes viciously. "No, Dorothy, listen. This isn't about me. I realize that I don't know what it's like to be in your shoes. And I also know that I have no idea what has made you the person that you are, but, at the same time, I DO know the person you are, and I don't want you to have to go through the rest of your life running away." She paused, taking a deep calming breath. Then her face relaxed into a small smile despite the tear trails still visibly shining on her face. "You have friends here, Dorothy. You have a job you love and are awesome at… is what you're running from really so scary that it's not worth facing for that?" she asked. "Can't you at least tell me that? Don't you trust me enough to open up to me?"

Dorothy's eyes widened and glazed over slightly as she remembered those same words coming from a different person…

* * *

"When will you learn to trust me and open up to me?" Quatre asked. 

The question was posed to Dorothy one sunny afternoon, as both her and Quatre had lunch in an outside cafe, near Winner Enterprises. Dorothy found herself bored and had stopped in to see if Quatre was free. He had readily accepted her invitation and they had set out. Some light shopping and halfway through their lunch, the topic of conversation was brought to future plans.

Quatre had many things to talk about in that department. And for a few minutes he spoke about everything from learning the ropes of running a corporation to approving the plans to redecorate the Winner estate to better accommodate his adoptive mercenary family.

However, when Quatre turned the question back to Dorothy, he was exasperated, as usual, it seemed. To Dorothy, it seemed sometimes that she would never get it right. One minute they were getting on so well and then BAM! Out of the blue he'd ask her some silly question and she'd answer it wrong.

In this case she had told him curtly that she had no future plans. As a joke, she had added that this way there would be no future disappointments. Obviously, the joke did not go as planned.

If only she didn't feel cornered by questions like these. She couldn't talk about her future plans until she knew how the paperwork from Dermail's assets was completed. Her lawyer informed her that with everything that had happened in the war, it may take several more months to straighten everything out, and until then the only withdrawals she could make were to cover her current living expenses.

How could a girl with no options, tell a guy with all the options in the world at his disposal what her future plans are?

Dorothy frowned as she replayed the accusing tone standing out so unnaturally in his voice, "It's nothing like that, dear. I HAVE opened up to you. I just can't give you what you want, because I don't care about those kinds of things."

"You mean you don't want to appear as if you care about those kind of things."

Dorothy sighed. "No. I do not. I know what I said and it is what I meant to say." She fumbled a second trying to elaborate. "Not everyone is the A+ planner that you are, Quatre, dear."

Quatre sighed, the sad look she so hated to see glistening in his eyes. "Dorothy I know you better than that. You ARE a planner, just as much, if not more, than me. Your problem is that you DO care, but you'd rather not and..."

"And I think that's where you should stop for the day, soul-searcher." Dorothy said, her expression stormy.

Quatre had wisely let the subject drop, but his green eyes – so like Amanda's actually now that Dorothy thought on it – kept their cloudy appearance. Making Dorothy feel miserable because once again, that she'd failed whatever test had been put before her.

* * *

Dorothy shook her head and opened her mouth, it was funny how Amanda was making her think on things she'd long put behind her. She was so close to telling her everything, but, unlike last night, she didn't feel threatened at all. Just unsure. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to be telling Amanda. Just like she didn't know what answer she was to give to Quatre. 

What would be the truth… or at least closest to it? The thoughts were running through her head too fast for her to grasp. She felt as if she were being pulled down in the middle of a river trying to grab onto a rock, but she was moving too fast and the rocks were too slippery.

Amanda sighed, her tears now gone completely and closed her eyes briefly. "Just let yourself flow with the current." She said. "It'll take you where you want to go."

Dorothy closed her mouth abruptly, her eyes widened. "How did you…"

Amanda smiled sadly. "I have always been like that. for as long as I can remember." She laughed at Dorothy's shocked face. "Don't worry, I'm not psychic or anything. It's just sometimes… I feel…" she closed her eyes and sighed. "You feel like you're in water above your head, swimming against some kind of current, right?"

Dorothy nodded mutely.

Amanda opened her eyes. "I'm not sure why or how, but sometimes when people feel things very strongly, I can sort of sense what they're trying to express."

Dorothy shook her head. "That's incredible." She said, thinking about the political advantages of such a gift.

Amanda shrugged her shoulders. "Most people don't think so. Actually, most people are very weirded out by it." she said, surprise echoing in her voice, that Dorothy didn't get freaked out.

Dorothy laughed. "It takes a lot more than that to 'weird me out'."

Amanda laughed with her, but only long enough to gather her thoughts. "Now, that we're both a little calmer, would you please tell me why you left in the first place?"

"I already told you that I couldn't get access to Dermail's wealth or …"

Amanda interrupted her. "That's not what I meant." She said firmly. "You've already told me that you had friends that were well off who could have helped you."

Dorothy shook her head. "No, I didn't really have many friends."

"'Acquaintances' then." Amanda said. "You fled from everything and everyone. Why did you feel you had to do that?" she asked reaching for Dorothy's hand.

Dorothy felt Amanda's hand squeeze hers, and it was as if she had reached into the river and pulled Dorothy up from the choking water. "I wanted to prove…" she trailed off in thought.

"Prove to who?" Amanda pushed.

"To myself..." She said, hearing her words almost before she realized that she was thinking them.

"Prove what?" asked Amanda.

'That since no one needs me, I don't need them, either.' Dorothy opened her mouth to say, but she closed it and swallowed as if it were the big lump in her throat, and if only it would go away she would be fine. She wouldn't see so clearly now that she was no better off now than she used to be. The only difference was that now she relied on Amanda and singing at the bar, instead of Quatre and the war. Always the dependant.

Finally after a moment or two that could have 10 seconds or 10 years Dorothy shook her head and felt tears welling up in her eyes, which she tried to blink back.

Amanda frowned. She caught a feeling, of loneliness and… than nothing. She waited and then looked up at her friend. "Dorothy?" she asked.

Dorothy shook her head and brushed the unshed tears from her eyes. "Nothing. I'm just over-reacting, aren't I?" she said as she chuckled.

Amanda sensed something amiss, but couldn't pinpoint it. "Not so much over-reacting, as…"

Dorothy laughed lightly, "… as over-reacting?"

Amanda laughed as well. "Well maybe." After a minute, she cleared her throat. "So where do we go from here?" she asked.

Dorothy stepped back, "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I guess what I'm trying to find out is, what are your plans?" Amanda tried hard not to sound anxious, but Dorothy picked up on something in her expression.

"Amanda, what did you do?" Dorothy asked suspiciously. The coloring of Amanda's face was her giveaway. And as her face started to flush, Amanda began speaking quickly.

"Now, don'tgettoomadbecauseIdiditforyourowngood." And then her voice dropped to a barely detectable level.

Dorothy had no trouble piecing it all together. "Amanda, you didn't!"

Amanda smiled sheepishly, looking at Dorothy's alarm clock.

"He'll be here in about 20 minutes. The Chinese food should show up sometime after that."

Dorothy bit her lip and resisted the urge to scream at her friend. "Why would you go and do something like that?"

Amanda actually winced as she tried to shield herself against Dorothy's anger that radiated from her like furnace. "Dorothy you have to face him sometime." She argued weakly.

Dorothy frowned. Now there was no way she would have to get out of town, she thought to herself. Especially with her ankle – first she'd have to get used to the brace so she wasn't so obviously hobbling around, perhaps a disguise...

And just like that, Dorothy realized that even after everything – she was still just planning to leave it all and strike it up somewhere else.

Was she ready to leave everything that she had earned here? Before she could think any more on the subject, she realized that Amanda was waiting for her rebuttal... crap. What had she even said. Oh, right, Trowa – dinner – 20 minutes.

"That doesn't mean I'm up for it tonight." She finished weakly hoping that Amanda didn't see through her lack of conviction.

Fortunately, at that moment, Amanda was momentarily distracted by Dorothy's sudden change in emotional output. One minute she was almost causing Amanda physical pain, and the next Amanda couldn't sense anything. It was as if a black hole came and sucked up all of Dorothy's feelings. There was nothing; not even a hint of resentment for Amanda interfering in Dorothy's life.

"Couldn't you call him – and tell him I'm still sick?!?" Dorothy pleaded.

"No can do." Amanda replied. "I'm afraid I didn't get his number."

"And you sound so sorry about that too." Dorothy sneered, before resorting to her most hated tactic, "Amanda, please, I'm begging you. Lie to him. Tell him I'm not here. Tell him I'm still sleeping. Tell him ANYTHING! I'm just not feeling up to this today!!" Dorothy cried.

Amanda paused, torn. On one hand, Dorothy looked horrible. Her long sleep did little to relieve her face of those dark bags under her eyes. She was so very very pale, and that lump on her forehead was a purplish-blue with black dried blood across it. But on the other hand, she knew Dorothy was stalling, and Amanda never could lie to people.

Finally after a long pause, during which Dorothy had already mentally congratulated herself on getting Amanda to lie for her, Amanda shook her head.

I'm sorry, Dorothy." She said sadly. "I'm no good at lying to people. Even if I told you I'd try, I might as well not. I just can't do it."

Dorothy lowered her head and rubbed her temples, more for show to Amanda than to actually alleviate the pain of her headache.

"Fine." She grumbled. "But I need a shower first. And I'll be a while." She said moodily, as she grabbed some clothes from the suitcase and stormed, as effectively as she could with an injured ankle, towards the bathroom.

Amanda, as she watched her friend retreat, remembered that she was going to vacuum before Trowa showed up and assuming that the Dorothy situation was under control, rushed downstairs to start.

Dorothy turned the shower on and heard the appliance downstairs start-up. She smiled as she left the bathroom locking and closing the door behind her. Slipping two layers of clothes on, being careful of her ankle – she purposefully left the suitcase on her bed. Reaching underneath, she pulled a small duffle bag. Packing some necessities, she hoisted the bag over her shoulder

Some may think, at this point, that Dorothy was not thinking clearly. However, Dorothy had been doing little else for the last few hours. She had come to the conclusion that even if she chose to stay, with her injured ankle she be more of a burden to Amanda than anything else. She might still be able to sing, but there's no way she could work at the restaurant, and it was only with both jobs that she was able to make rent. So, by leaving she was preventing herself from becoming a burden to Amanda – or Quatre – who would likely be her next benefactor after Trowa told him how to find her.

After no one would knew where Dorothy was, she could finally start over. She could stop being the dependant.

A smile graced her features as she fashioned a make-shift cane, and opened her bedroom window. Sliding out of the window she was pleased that the roof had a nice easy slope. She smiled. She knew there was a lattice she could climb down somewhere... Then, if everything went according to plan, she'd be off and on a shuttle before they even knew she wasn't in the shower.

* * *

Kat: Well there's that - a little deeper perspective into Dorothy's roomate and reasonings. The next chapter starts up with action again. I've got it mostly done and expect to update soon! I thank all of you who have stuck with me thus far - I PROMISE I WILL finish this story. With closing on my house, and redecorating my life has been pretty crazy, but I finally have my inspiration for the ending. Which is all I was missing. Now, the writing is much easier and the end is in sight.

Please understand that I own nothing of Gundam Wing and write this purely for my own (and hopefully other's) entertainment without making any profit.


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